The Sword and Stars
by Orangeblossom
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are grounded by an ion storm on the planet Tivelis and find themselves at a tavern called The Sword and Stars, where they meet a interesting waiter, his best friend and tavern owner, and a fellow Jedi Knight. Pre-TPM.
1. Springtime on Tivelis

The Sword and Stars  
Part I – Springtime on Tivelis

NOTES: The character Y'Chelle Anacris was inspired by the actress Michelle Yeoh, who I think would make a kick-ass Jedi Knight.

Thanks to Chris, for getting this story started. Thanks also to Lori, Raven, and Monica, for their great feedback and encouragement.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up briefly and caught sight of a sign on a busy tavern that said "The Sword and Stars" and decided it sounded vaguely Jedi-like. Continuing his argument, he turned to face Qui-Gon Jinn and walked towards the tavern backwards, eagerly gesturing as he said, "...but only the one would be needed, don't you see? And that would halve — no, reduce by _two-thirds_ the response time, and then we could — "

A tall woman with short dark hair and steady gray eyes stood by the counter that spanned the outdoor terrace and indoor seating areas, adding receipts. Seeing the two men, she hooked a chair with her foot, pulling it out of the way of the younger man so he wouldn't trip. Qui-Gon nodded once to her, acknowledging her help. Although his expression was solemn, she thought she saw a glint deep in his eyes that might have been amusement, but when their eyes met for a brief second she couldn't be sure; his blue eyes were unreadable. His attention quickly went back to the other man, whom he interrupted with, "You would do well to concentrate on the present moment, Obi-Wan, with all its inherent — possibilities."

Obi-Wan checked at this, and seemed to realize only then the number of mishaps he could incur by walking backwards. He hastily led the way to an empty table on the large terrace, which had a view of a lush green park across the street that sloped away towards a central business area and, beyond it, a bay sparkling in the planet Tivelis's spring sunshine.

A waiter, looking very much like a human-sized cat walking on its hind legs, his white fur patched at random with orange and black, hurried to greet them with a bow and the ritual words, "Will you refresh yourselves?" and proffered hot water for tea. As he straightened and Qui-Gon's eye caught his, the fur from the nape of his neck all the way to the tip of his tail bristled and he almost dropped the teapot.

Obi-Wan looked from one to the other. _Now that's a fear-response if I ever saw one_, he thought as he raised his hand slightly and used the Force to ease the teapot onto the table. Sometimes Obi-Wan forgot that Qui-Gon had an air about him — of authority used to being obeyed, of calm assurance bordering on arrogance. It was less and less often that the Master fixed him with a stare that seemed to see right through him, but even his most neutral stare had an unnerving intensity. As Qui-Gon politely ignored the waiter's distress and spoke in low, even tones designed to put him at his ease, Obi-Wan reflected that there had been times when, if he'd had fur, _he'd_ have bristled all over at one of Qui-Gon's looks.

Their parti-colored waiter made it inside to place their order, and Obi-Wan watched with interest as he came back out, went to the woman at the counter and agitatedly pointed with his tail at their table. She put down her scan-pad and took the bristly tail tip in her hands, stroking it soothingly as he apparently told her why he wasn't going to bring them their food. She seemed to speak reasonably, then remonstrate, then she yanked on his tail with what looked like exasperated affection. A lull in the conversation around them let him overhear her say, "Ialii, you have no more sense than the Force gave a piggle," and Obi-Wan suppressed a smile.

Qui-Gon, who had mixed leaves from the assortment of jars at the table and was brewing their tea, raised his eyebrows at his apprentice's obvious amusement.

"Nothing, Master," Obi-Wan said quickly, and turned the subject. "Ah — as I was saying before, the ship really could stand to — "

At the counter Ialii, confirming the woman's estimation of him, squeaked like a piggle and then beseeched as she laughed at him, "Just look, Chydanio!"

To humor him, she looked over at the table in question, where the two men were sitting in profile to her. They were both Jedi, the younger man apprentice to the older, that much was obvious to the casual observer by their clothing and the braid the younger man wore. But as her gaze lingered on them she began to see the more subtle contrasts between them. Obi-Wan, although the stockier and more sturdily built of the two, still had much of the boy about him — too much enthusiasm and confidence showed in his mobile features for the serious demeanor he obviously tried to project. And the taller man — there was a sense of immense responsibility about him, his gravity a part of him as much as the younger man's seemed only a cloak he put on when he remembered to. And there was something more about the Jedi Master, or had seemed to be, when he'd first come in... She wished she had her sketchbook with her. Both men, in their own ways, intrigued her.

She gave her considered opinion. "They don't look like they'll bite."

Ialii chuffed loudly, begging to differ.

Chydanio gave in and tied a clean serving cloth around her waist. "I don't know why I don't fire you," she muttered, grabbing two place settings from a pile near the counter.

"Because you love and adore me?" he suggested, and then whipped his tail out of reach before she could pull it again.

She took the long way — around a large party of boisterous ornithicids, wings aflutter with the agitation of their arguments — walking slowly and studying the two men with an eye to drawing them later. It was the only reason she noticed not only that how they drank their tea seemed like a ritual — holding the cups just so with both hands, eyes closed and heads bowed, inhaling the steam before they sipped deeply — but also, in some way that she couldn't explain, in the midst of the noise of the terrace and the crowds on the sidewalk and the traffic in the street, it was as if time stood absolutely still for them, creating a small space of calm for the span of that first sip. Then Obi-Wan looked up and saw her making her way towards them.

"It appears that we have a new waiter," he commented as he put down his cup.

Qui-Gon also looked up, and saw the woman who had saved Obi-Wan from breaking his neck when they'd arrived. "I wonder what happened to our variegated friend," he said mildly.

Obi-Wan suddenly thought of how very long it had taken him to realize that Qui-Gon, the man who from the moment they'd met he had trusted and respected and held in paralyzing awe, actually had a sense of humor. But once he'd made the discovery, he found that he genuinely liked the older man as a friend and enjoyed his company. "It was certainly nothing you _said_, Master," Obi-Wan assured him with a small smile.

"I trust not." And Qui-Gon, deadpan, shot him a look that went right through his skull and hit a tree in the park across the street.

_I've __**got **__to learn how to do that!_ Obi-Wan thought, almost breaking into a broad grin. But at that moment Chydanio reached their table, and her presence suddenly reminded him that such an expression was at odds with his image as a Jedi, and he schooled his features.

Chydanio, fascinated, found that she wanted to see Obi-Wan's grin very much. Sensing, though, that if she teased him it would only cause him to be embarrassed and hide behind his feigned maturity, she impulsively determined to tease his companion instead. Even if he _was_ a Jedi Master.

"My apologies," she said, laying out their table linen, all efficiency and business. "I'm a poor substitute for your original waiter, Ialii. It seems, however, that you...disconcerted him." She smoothed a fold in a napkin. "He said your scent is like nothing he's ever come across before."

"_That's_ a first," Qui-Gon mused, and raised his eyebrows at his apprentice. Obi-Wan tried to look unconcerned.

She went on matter-of-factly, placing their utensils, "He's never met a Jedi before. I think that, just as every emotional state has a distinct scent to him, so does the Force, and the stronger the Force, the more...peculiar the smell is to him."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Obi-Wan looking vindicated; since the Force was strongest of all with a Jedi Master, it was Qui-Gon who smelled funny, not him. If she pushed just a little harder... She straightened and looked at them both. "He also said that one of you looked like a cross between a...warrior and an attorney, and that those kind of men are more dangerous than predators, even."

Obi-Wan's grin was like a ray of sunlight breaking through heavy clouds: sudden, bright, and so warm you wanted to raise your face to it in response. _Oh, that was definitely worth it,_ Chydanio thought even as she turned innocent eyes to Qui-Gon and asked, having too much fun to stop now, "That wouldn't be you, would it?"

Obi-Wan had to turn away before he burst into laughter. Qui-Gon gave a small sigh and looked up at Chydanio. "I did seem to alarm Ialii," he admitted, "although that certainly wasn't my intention. There's nothing I can do about my scent, but please convey my regret for any distress I caused him."

When he'd begun to speak, Chydanio saw for a moment what Ialii had seen, and was herself a little alarmed. But only for a moment, because as she continued to look down into his blue eyes they almost seemed to open to her — yes, there was the glint of amusement she only thought she'd seen earlier, now closer to the surface. And she also saw that his apology was genuine. There was definitely power and decision in this man, but there was also kindness. And she didn't realize that the teasing look had left her own eyes as she regarded him thoughtfully.

Someone leaned out the tavern doorway and bawled their table number, then pounded on the doorframe for emphasis. She bowed to the two Jedi. "I'll be right back."

Qui-Gon watched her walk away. Usually, he only noticed things such as her expression in passing, going beyond surface appearance to what lay beneath, searching for the Force in all its manifestations. But he found himself wondering briefly about her — why she had reacted to him the way she had, and why the light in her eyes had changed right before she'd left to get their food. Then he shook his head slightly. It was none of his business, after all.

When she was safely out of earshot Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon, his eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. "A warrior _and_ an attorney, Master — is that something I should be striving for?"

"Not necessarily," he responded equably. "I believe the question is whether you _could_ appear more dangerous than a predator."

"Of course I could. I simply choose not to frighten the natives at every turn, as you do."

"Our new waiter doesn't seem to fear of me."

"Yes, but you don't smell 'peculiar' to her."

Qui-Gon took another sip of tea. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Obi-Wan?"

"Immensely, Master."

Neither of them could help noticing that Ialii, who was serving a table nearby, carefully kept the Jedi upwind of him. As he turned away Chydanio caught up to him, her arms and hands balancing several plates of food. They bent their heads together and spoke in low tones, and she gestured towards Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, which made Ialii's fur spike briefly before he smoothed it with an effort and said something further to her. As if in answer, she started to walk away.

"...my table, Chydanio!" Ialii hissed loudly.

She hissed back, "Then _you_ take these plates over there — " The way his ears abruptly lay flat against his head was answer enough. "Then I get their tip — if there is one, if their food isn't cold by the time — "

He twisted his spotted tail in his paws, clearly torn. "What if...I serve the one with a tail and you serve the one with the face fur and we split it?"

She glared at him, incredulous. "Get. Back. To. Work!"

Chydanio turned back towards the table and saw two sets of blue eyes — one pair twinkling, the other grave — on her. She sighed and made it the last few steps to the table and set the plates down, offering the ritual words but in a harried tone, "Partake and enjoy."

"I hope we're not causing you any trouble," Obi-Wan said, smiling innocently.

"With the overgrown cat?" She laughed once and shook her head. "Don't misunderstand. We're old friends. I'm sure we'll survive two Jedi eating a meal here. Or at least a Jedi with a tail." She gave Obi-Wan a conspiratorial smile. "Ialii still has his doubts about the one with the face fur."

Obi-Wan suddenly realized that Chydanio was deliberately teasing Qui-Gon — and had been, when she'd first come to their table. She'd just met him and she was taking the liberty — ! And she did it so easily, with none of the deference he realized he'd assumed was a Jedi's right.

Affronted, he looked at Qui-Gon — but instead of seeing his own emotion mirrored, he saw the Master glancing up at Chydanio, a corner of his mouth quirked upward. When Chydanio looked back down at him, his expression smoothed itself out and he regarded her with his usual calm. And she responded, not to that calm, but to his almost-smile, with a small, slow smile of her own.

She said again, this time meaning it, "Partake and enjoy."

Obi-Wan turned thoughtful. He was used to minutely observing the Master in all things and interpreting what he saw, and now he found himself wondering about something he never had before. He knew there were Jedi who had spouses and families and homes, but Qui-Gon had none of these. It suddenly occurred to him that in some ways, perhaps Qui-Gon had chosen to forego these things because of him. Taking on a Padawan learner was no easy task, and ideally a Jedi Master would have no distractions, no other ties.

He had never thought about Qui-Gon being in a relationship. He'd never thought about him being — lonely.

"From the ferocious frown on your face, am I to assume that you're practicing to 'frighten the natives'?" Qui-Gon asked, breaking into Obi-Wan's reverie.

Obi-Wan focused back in on the moment and managed to answer in the same bantering tone, "I would never presume to steal your act, Master." And mechanically he began to eat, trying not to meet his eyes, trying to keep what he was thinking out of his face — was he indeed the reason Qui-Gon was alone? And if the Master had chosen this path, would it be Obi-Wan's as well...?

Qui-Gon stared narrowly at his apprentice; obviously, _something_ was disturbing him. He finally turned to his own food and decided that time would tell him what it was.

As Chydanio went back to the kitchen, Ialii stopped her short and leaned towards her, his whiskers arched forward and quivering.

"What is it?" she asked, and when he didn't immediately respond she kidded him, "Did some of their scent rub off on me?"

"Be serious," he said, regarding her thoughtfully. "There's something...I can't place it, but I think I've smelled it before." He puzzled a little longer.

"Good or bad?" she prompted.

He looked up into her gray eyes. "Good. I associate it with a good memory, I think." He flicked his ears forward, then back, his equivalent of a shrug, dismissing the thought.

Chydanio shook her head. "Strange cat..."

She went back out to the terrace after a while to check on the two Jedi and refill their teapot, and without raising his head Obi-Wan covertly examined her. She was broad-shouldered and stood almost as tall as the Master, her face weathered and a little careworn, and her short dark hair showed a few silver strands. Deep laugh lines bracketed wide-set gray eyes as well as a too-generous mouth under a slightly crooked nose. Not beautiful, not even pretty, but there was something compelling about her all the same.

"Can anything be improved?" she asked them.

Qui-Gon had been trying without much success to discuss with Obi-Wan his earlier concern about their ship's engines, but knew Chydanio's ritual question didn't refer to that. "Everything's fine. Thank you," he answered for the both of them, since the younger man seemed to be having great difficulty looking at anything but the plate in front of him.

Chydanio leaned over Obi-Wan. "And you, Jedi-with-a-tail — is your meal complete?" she asked, smiling at him. He nodded silently, not raising his eyes, wanting simply to listen to her interact with Qui-Gon. The woman gave Qui-Gon an "Is he all right?" look. His answering "I don't know" look was clearly concerned.

So — gravity and kindness, calm solemnity and controlled power, subtle humor and endless, endless responsibility. Chydanio folded her arms across her chest, wondering what to say that might get Obi-Wan's attention and help this Jedi Master out. "You know, just the other day we were talking about..." she improvised slowly, then recalled that they actually had had a discussion about — "...the Jedi. If you don't mind, this is a good opportunity..."

Qui-Gon found himself wondering again about this woman — why, with apparently the best of good will, she was trying to help him after having gone out of her way to tease him earlier. He didn't need to probe the Force within her to tell that there was no malice or guile there; he'd seen that much in her eyes. He would have decided to trust her — if he hadn't found that he'd somehow given her his trust already. He hoped for the best, and that perhaps she might succeed where he hadn't.

"Certainly," Qui-Gon answered her, hoping this would turn Obi-Wan's thoughts outward. "What questions do you have?"

She recalled briefly. "Well, for instance, that 'mind trick' thing you can do..."

"It is a Jedi discipline called 'voice manipulation,'" the Master supplied helpfully.

"Voice manipulation," she repeated. "One of my cooks was saying that you can — " She stopped suddenly and shot him a horrified look as she recalled the exact conversation. " — um — "

Seeing that Obi-Wan was at least listening, Qui-Gon inclined his head, encouraging Chydanio to continue.

Unable to think of anything else to say, Chydanio plunged on recklessly, "Well, you know what they say, but I find it hard to believe that someone as good-looking as your apprentice would have to resort to the Force to...find companionship." And the expression in Qui-Gon's eyes managed to be both stunned and immensely diverted at the same time.

"The Jedi use their powers only for good, you realize," he said with a perfectly straight face as they both watched Obi-Wan slowly turn red.

"Of course," she agreed, her discomfiture forgotten at the sight of the apprentice's. She added, unable to resist, "And just as a Jedi wouldn't use voice manipulation, neither would he, say, offer to...demonstrate his Jedi reflexes."

Clearly aghast, Obi-Wan's eyes widened.

"Or show how he draws his strength and...stamina from the Force," Qui-Gon added amiably. Obi-Wan nearly grimaced.

"Nor, in a similar situation, would a Jedi ever offer to show off his...lightsaber."

"I suppose that would depend on the size of the lightsaber."

Chydanio's jaw almost dropped, as did Obi-Wan's, but she came back with, "But isn't that when voice manipulation would come in handy?"

"As a matter of fact, my own Master, Yoda, is fond of saying, 'Size matters not'..."

Obi-Wan finally raised his eyes and stared at them, disbelief and indignation on his young face. "His _height_! He's referring to his _height_!"

"Of course he is," Qui-Gon said, serenely regarding him.

The apprentice, open-mouthed, looked up at Chydanio. She winked at him. He colored even more deeply, then he clapped his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking. Chydanio joined in his laughter. Then she rested her hand on his head briefly, tilting his face up to hers. "Beware, young Jedi," she counseled, smiling down at him. "Springtime on Tivelis can be contagious."

"I can see that," he said, then asked Qui-Gon, "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Master?"

Qui-Gon contented himself with his blandest "I have no idea what you're talking about" expression and poured him more tea. As Obi-Wan took a steadying sip, he realized he hadn't noticed when Chydanio left their table.

The two Jedi sat in companionable silence finishing their meal, Obi-Wan no longer hiding from Qui-Gon, and then the Master asked gently, "Is all well with you, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan made up his mind. "There is something I wish to discuss with you, Master, but not here."

Qui-Gon nodded. He arose and handed the wallet over to the younger man, advising, "Tip high, Obi-Wan — in case our waiter has to split it."

Obi-Wan smiled up at him. "That was my thought as well, Master."

The taller man made his way to the front of the terrace and stopped by the counter where Chydanio was standing. He leaned towards her so he wouldn't have to raise his voice to be heard, and found that she stood eye-level with him. "I want to thank you for your assistance," he said, and that close to her he couldn't help noticing the warmth in her gray eyes.

She shrugged a shoulder modestly. "Such as it was."

"Such as it was," he agreed. "Highly entertaining, eminently embarrassing, and as a reflection of you — most intriguing."

She gave a small laugh, knowing he wasn't trying to charm her but feeling self-conscious all the same. "You're welcome," she answered his first comment. And then was able to add, "As a reflection of _you_, I never would have suspected a Jedi of being...mischievous."

His expression was blank, but she could see the glint deep in his eyes. "I've been described in many ways, but never with that particular word."

She assured him in a low voice, "Your secret's safe with me, Master Jedi."

The upturned corner of his mouth softened his stern features. "As is yours with me."

"And what would that be?"

"That you know how to make a Jedi Master feel at his ease."

She tilted her head slightly, puzzled. "Is that a well-kept secret?"

"It is." Obi-Wan came up then, and the two men nodded a farewell to her, Qui-Gon adding, "May the Force be with you." They walked out and crossed the street together.

Before Chydanio could figure out what he had meant, if anything, Ialii came out on the terrace, and his whiskers started to quiver. "That smell — !" he exclaimed.

"The Jedi just left!" She was starting to get really annoyed with him. "I don't want to hear — "

"No, _your_ smell!" he insisted. "It's been years, that's why I couldn't place it! The last time your emotion was that scent was when Jancer was still alive."

She stared at him, impressed. "How can you possibly remember what I smelled like that long ago?"

He tapped his splotched muzzle. "The nose can't forget. It was the night he and I met you for the first time."

She thought back to that night — and looked at him strangely. "Wait — what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Ialii flicked his ears forward, then back. "That you feel like you've met someone who'll become your best friend and best waiter." He poked her nose with the tip of his tail and she grinned at him, wondering which Jedi had triggered that particular emotional state. But Ialii went on, "Or, you feel like you've met someone you could fall in love with..."

As the two Jedi started down the gentle slope of the park towards the business district at the far end, walking on the grass rather than the wide, well-traveled path so as to keep their conversation private, the Master asked, "Well, Obi-Wan?"

"It was a good meal."

"Yes, it was, although that isn't what I was referring to."

"Good service, too," Obi-Wan went on inanely, not sure how to broach the topic uppermost in his mind.

Qui-Gon gave him a sideways glance. "Yes." There seemed no other answer to make, and he waited for the younger man to unburden himself of whatever was preoccupying him.

"And our waiter..." Obi-Wan finally continued.

"Yes?"

"She was...not ill-favored."

"High praise indeed," Qui-Gon responded dryly.

"I mean..."

Qui-Gon stopped and faced his apprentice. "You _may_ speak more plainly, young Padawan."

He tried again, blurted out, "Master, she _liked_ you. And...you liked her."

The taller man stared, bemused, at him. "Liked," he finally said, drawing the word out as if he didn't quite understand its meaning.

"Liked. In the way that — an ordinary person is attracted to another."

"Am I to understand that, one, you do not consider me an ordinary person, and two, that such a person should not — or cannot? — feel an attraction towards another person?"

"Master..._can_ you?"

Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest and gave Obi-Wan his full scrutiny. There was so much emotion behind the question, more than he could sort through at the moment. "Is the question actually, 'Can a Jedi?' If so, the answer is yes, of course. If the question is, 'Did I?' the answer is no."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you think I don't know my own feelings?"

"I know," he said slowly, "that, as a Jedi Master, you are more attuned to the Force and its manifestations than I am. But...if you don't recognize in yourself what I would consider in anyone else a — chemistry, an attraction, if you don't realize that you interacted with her in a way I've never seen you interact with anyone else, then I feel you should re-examine what happened back at the tavern."

Genuinely curious, Qui-Gon asked, "To what end?"

"Perhaps you could...get to know her better. Maybe become friends, maybe..."

"...maybe...?"

The younger man frowned, deeply troubled. "Master, are you...do you ever get...lonely?"

Qui-Gon said nothing, realizing that he should have seen this particular conversation coming for a while now. His overriding concern had been Obi-Wan's development as a Jedi, and he hadn't paid as much attention to him becoming a man. And he knew now that, although the younger man's concern for him was genuine, their disjointed conversation had less to do with himself and the woman at The Sword and Stars than with Obi-Wan and all the questions a young man who'd had his share of casual liaisons but never the chance for a romantic attachment naturally had.

Obi-Wan stumbled on, "Because I want you to know that it wouldn't...I mean, if you...if ever...you see, I wonder if I...when I..."

Qui-Gon gripped Obi-Wan's shoulder and said gently, "You must learn to trust the Force, Padawan. You must learn how to trust love, knowing that everything has its proper beginning and end — learn to experience love fully, and to let it go when the time comes."

He didn't need to see the look in Obi-Wan's eyes to know that his words and their meaning didn't converge for the younger man. Only experience would do that. And it was a hard lesson, Jedi or no.

More practically, he added in the same gentle tone, "The decision cannot be made in advance. And only you can make it. As for me — I am living the life I want to, that I am meant to. I have no regrets."

They held each other's gaze steadily, until Obi-Wan took a deep breath and nodded once. Qui-Gon loosened his grip and clapped him on the shoulder, smiling down at him. "Patience, Obi-Wan. Patience, and trust." They continued through the park, walking more slowly, both deep in thought.

They had just reached a level stretch of grass before the park sloped away again when someone called out, "Master Qui-Gon!"

The Master turned, and inclined his head very slightly as he saw who had crossed the park to greet him, no expression on his face. "Y'Chelle."

She grinned up at him and his neutral greeting. "You're always so happy to see me," she teased.

He didn't rise to the bait. They both knew his opinion of her; it was hard for Qui-Gon to fully approve of a Jedi with her devil-may-care attitude, who wore her responsibility so lightly it seemed like play.

Qui-Gon's turn had blocked the newcomer from Obi-Wan's sight, and he moved around the Master to see who had joined them.

Y'Chelle was a slender, petite woman with jet-black hair cascading past her shoulders and dark, almond-shaped eyes. She was only a few years older than Obi-Wan and wore the hooded cloak and loose-fitting layered clothing typical of the Jedi, but instead of the courtly, solemn demeanor he'd come to expect from his long association with Qui-Gon, her emotions were plain on her lively face, and she turned her genuine, unaffected smile in his direction.

"You are Master Qui-Gon's Padawan learner?" she asked.

Before Obi-Wan could answer, the older man said with the deliberate tone of someone who was doing something against his better judgment, "Obi-Wan, this is Y'Chelle Anacris, who trained under Master Mace Windu. Y'Chelle — Obi-Wan Kenobi, my apprentice."

Y'Chelle's infectious smile widened as she stepped lightly around the Jedi Master, moving with the grace of a dancer. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan found himself smiling in return, and he missed a beat before he managed to stammer, "Th-the pleasure is mine."

Qui-Gon shot a quick glance at his apprentice and raised an eyebrow. Springtime, indeed — it didn't exactly take the Force to figure out what was going on.

He was sure Y'Chelle could see how Obi-Wan felt as well as he could and that she'd be kind enough not to break the boy's heart. He turned back to her; a word to the wise —

She was looking at Obi-Wan with obvious interest, as attracted to him as he was to her. And no, it didn't take the Force to see that, either.

Suddenly Qui-Gon felt quite old. And superfluous.

"So what brings you to Tivelis?" Y'Chelle asked them.

"An ion storm," Obi-Wan told her. "We're waiting it out before we continue on to Carlienti."

She nodded. "The same with me, except I'm on my way to Coruscant. I've never been to Tivelis before and thought I'd do some sightseeing." Y'Chelle looked at them both, but clearly meant her words for Obi-Wan. "Would you like to join me?"

Much as Qui-Gon disapproved of Y'Chelle's outward demeanor, she had passed her trials and was a distinguished Jedi Knight. And in any case, the very last thing he wanted to do was play chaperone to two people who would wind up in each other's arms before the night was through no matter _what_ he did.

Besides, he thought suddenly, perhaps this was the perfect way for Obi-Wan to get a few of those answers he was looking for — even for some questions he hadn't thought to ask yet.

He said aloud, "If you wish, go on ahead, Padawan. I'll...look into the feasibility of upgrading our hyperdrive."

END PART I


	2. What Every Padawan Learner Should Know

The Sword and Stars  
Part II — What Every Padawan Learner Should Know

SUMMARY: Obi-Wan discovers that his Jedi Training is decidedly lacking in some areas.

NOTES: For an idea of the music Obi-Wan hears, try _Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares_.

* * *

Obi-Wan discovered that Y'Chelle had some rather unusual ideas about sightseeing, and didn't even bother to ask why they were climbing up a steep hillside to what looked like the service entrance to the planetary governor's residence instead of simply leaping up the hillside or using the front door. After only an afternoon with her, he'd learned that her response would have ranged from a reasonable-sounding "It's too late for a public tour" to a puzzled "Where's the fun in that?" He merely concentrated on finding hand- and foot-holds and keeping up with her as she ascended with far less apparent effort. She paused often to examine a stone or a plant, and once held out a flower for him to smell; for her, the journey was just as fascinating as the destination.

Once inside, they made a grand tour of the cellars and then the kitchen where, with the help of a Force screen here and a misdirection there, they managed to sneak a taste of that evening's dessert — a sort of honeyed seedcake neither of them much cared for. They almost blundered into the formal dining room upstairs, where people were already sitting down to dinner, and, smothering their laughter, they ran to the other end of the residence, and then skidded to a stop.

They'd reached the reception hall. Obi-Wan stared in open wonder at the stories-high atrium in the middle of the hall and the fountain whose jets seemed to reach all the way to the glassed ceiling, where golden sunlight poured through and turned the water into sparkling rainbows leaping and falling wherever they looked.

"Amazing," he breathed. Y'Chelle, speechless, clutched his arm in delight.

After a while the weight and warmth of her hands on his arm registered. He placed his hand over hers, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. She blinked, as if coming back to herself, and smiled up at him and took his hand in hers.

Just off the reception hall they found an exhibit with the "Official History of Tivelis" told in hologram, artifact, and brightly-colored pictures done by schoolchildren who, apparently, hadn't quite mastered fine-motor skills.

"Think they have that right-side up?" Obi-Wan wondered, not for the first time, about one of the pictures.

Y'Chelle laughed softly. "If I knew what it was supposed to be, I could tell you." Voices sounded at the far end of the exhibit, and they traded quick glances. They ran back to the atrium, gathered themselves and leaped up to the next level.

They peeked over the railing to make sure they hadn't been seen, and then looked around. From the signs by the doors they were on an office level. They tried several doors but found them locked. She pointed up. He nodded, game, and, the coast still clear, they launched themselves up another level.

This time Obi-Wan tried a door and it opened into a room with brightly-colored wall hangings and a bed at one end. "Guest quarters?" he hazarded a guess. She wrinkled her nose; not interesting enough. She led the way down a gallery away from the atrium railing and tried the wide doors at the very end.

This room was two stories tall with high, narrow windows. "Must be a guest room for an ornithicid," she said, seeing a large nest-like bed set on a high platform in the middle of the room. "The current governor's an ornithicid — see, the doors are a wingspan wide, and there's enough room to glide in here."

Curious, Y'Chelle went in and climbed onto the platform to see what the nest was made of. Obi-Wan was about to join her when she caught sight of the view out the window. "Look!" She jumped off the platform and the two Jedi scrambled up to the window ledge. Obi-Wan threw the window open wide, perching on the ledge, and Y'Chelle squeezed in behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder.

The hillside they had climbed to gain the residence was glowing with sunset colors, reds and oranges and deep yellows and pinks, shading to purple where shadows already fell. And a random breeze wafted strains of music towards them, a full-throated chorus of voices in strange and wonderful harmony. Obi-Wan shivered as the notes seemed to pierce him and resonate deep in his chest at the same time, and Y'Chelle put her arms around him and hugged him tight, feeling the same inexplicable excitement he did.

Far off to their left the sun slowly sank below the horizon. They lost the thread of music several times until the breeze simply died and the voices reached them of their own accord. The two Jedi weren't able to make out any words, but now the song was something soft and lovely, sustained notes supporting a melody line that floated lightly, gradually swelling and then pulling back for a final resolved chord just as one of the moons started to rise. Obi-Wan swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat, and he turned to look at Y'Chelle.

Their faces were so close their noses touched when he turned his head. Her dark eyes were almost liquid in the fading light. He glanced down at her mouth to see if she was smiling, if he could figure out what she was feeling, and then her lips pressed against his and he found he didn't have any questions at all.

They slipped down off the window ledge, still kissing, taking off each other's traveling cloak, unclasping each other's belt, unwinding each other's sash. Obi-Wan's eager hands slipped beneath her tunic, caressing warm, smooth skin —and encountered four parallel ridged keloids across her right side. He jerked away suddenly and stared at her. Deliberately, she removed her vest and tunic and turned slightly, pulling her hair over her other shoulder so he could see the long-healed but still noticeable scars, as if she'd been clawed viciously from shoulder blade to waist.

"Y'Chelle!" he gasped. He'd never seen wounds like hers before, and that she must have been attacked too far from the Jedi healers or even a medical facility to be treated properly made him realize just how much about his own life he took for granted.

"They hurt me no longer," she said, guiding his hand back to them.

With a determination to understand, knowing that she accepted them without question or regret, he drew his fingers along the scars. And he saw as if through her eyes, as it had happened so long ago, an Elwan marauder spring from cover and attack Master Mace Windu. He felt himself whirl quickly and raise his saber high when a second Elwan sprang from behind him and raked his exposed side, leaving a trail of raw, throbbing heat. Sudden tears, prompted by pure pain, stung his eyes and blinded him. But the malevolent Force in both marauders made them clear as a beacon, and the downward slash of six-inch claws drew his blade down even more sharply and he found his mark with a killing blow, then he reversed his arc and backthrust the lightsaber into the heart of the other Elwan...

The touch of her hand over his brought him back to himself. She smiled at him. "Someday, Obi-Wan, you'll bear your scars as proudly as I do mine."

"May I be as brave as you," he said softly, and caressed the sweeping line of her scars with his whole hand. She helped him take off his own vest and tunic, and then she was back in his arms, turning her face up to his.

Undressing completely and maneuvering their way to the nest involved a little awkwardness and not a little laughter, but they finally found themselves stretched out beside each other on the springy, fragrant material that lined the nest, enthusiastically exploring each other's body.

Without warning she suddenly threw the Force against him and rolled out of the nest. Dazed, he felt his lightsaber thrust into his hand even as she called her own lightsaber to her. She crouched by the side of the nest on the platform. "Do you feel it?" she breathed.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. All he could feel were his nerves on edge. _Relax! Feel!_ he told himself, searching for his sense of the Force.

And then he nodded, and pointed up.

They took the gallery at a dead run, pacing each other stride for stride, and launched themselves up the atrium. All Obi-Wan could manage was a straight-up trajectory with a heavy, stumbling landing, alerting everyone to their arrival, but Y'Chelle tucked into a forward tumble and landed light on her feet, balanced, her sword already ignited and fending off the blaster fire that came at them from down the corridor.

Cursing himself for several different kinds of fool, knowing that she was covering for him and that she shouldn't have to, he threw himself into the Jedi disciplines that should have been as instinctive to him as breathing. They advanced down the corridor, using lightsaber, well-placed deflected blaster fire, the Force and, when all else failed, a right cross to take out the would-be insurrectionists until the way was clear to the Governor's rooms.

The Governor had taken to the air, fighting her own brother, their outraged cries rending the air as they grappled, hand and hind claw and flailing wing, with each other.

Y'Chelle leapt upwards to join them. _There's no place to land!_ Obi-Wan thought desperately, wondering what she could possibly do in mid-air, feeling helpless himself on the ground.

The Jedi Knight soared up past the combatants and then descended, gravity giving her added power as she kicked hard at the brother's head with one leg, breaking up the clinch, and with a graceful, dancer-like move slid her other leg around his torso, anchoring her so that she could smash the butt of her saber into a vulnerable spot below his skull. He tried to backwing to maintain his altitude and balance, but his movements only gave her a better view of where to bring her lightsaber down to cleanly sever his wing, and she let go, falling lightly as he landed with a jarring thud.

The Governor's sister flew in through the open door, seeing that her brother had failed. Obi-Wan moved quickly now, launching himself upwards to confront her. She turned for him, deadly talons out. But he had leaped wide of her reach and, like Y'Chelle, dropped quickly from above, avoiding her claws and kicking out with both feet at her chest. The blow caused her to furl her wings and she plummeted to the ground.

Y'Chelle shouted up to the ceiling, "Governor! All is well?"

A harsh laugh was her answer, and she glided down to land gracefully in front of the two Jedi. "All _will_ be well," she declared. "My thanks to you for coming to my rescue. I will always be grateful."

At that moment the Governor's personal guards charged into the room and looked around, a little bewildered.

Y'Chelle moved her hand in front of them and murmured something, then traded a long-suffering glance with Obi-Wan. "What took you so long?" she asked the guards, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder as she walked out.

"We, uh..." one of them offered lamely, and then his gaze was drawn to the other Jedi and he stared openly. And it was only then that Obi-Wan realized that he was standing there absolutely naked.

Not quite as nonchalant as Y'Chelle, he tried to look simultaneously indifferent and dignified as he walked past the guards in her wake.

When they got back to their room, Obi-Wan threw himself into the nest, deeply embarrassed and despairing.

Y'Chelle climbed up on the platform, hands on her hips, and demanded, "What happened to _you_ back there?"

"I was distracted," he said in a low voice.

She regarded him with some amusement. "Is that why you didn't make anyone think you were wearing clothes?"

Defensive, he decided to blame his training. "It may seem odd to you, Y'Chelle, but in all my years of study with Master Qui-Gon the subject of fighting _stark naked_ just never came up!"

She tumbled into the nest beside him. "No, I don't suppose it did," she agreed, and continued mercilessly, "But then again, he probably thought that invoking the easiest of mind tricks was something you didn't need to be told."

He sunk his head in his hands, in no mood to be teased. "I'm going to report myself to the Jedi Council. I'm not fit to become a Jedi Knight," he declared in a muffled voice.

"Obi-Wan —!" She saw now how upset he really was and dropped all pretence at humor, stroking his arm comfortingly as she stated the truth. "Yes, you could have reacted more quickly to the attack. But that's nothing to renounce your training over! Once you collected yourself you defended the Governor bravely and well. The Force is strong in you and you're still an apprentice, you're still learning. All you need is time."

He was quiet for a while, deep in thought, and she watched his face, concerned. Finally, he sighed, a momentous decision made. "Well, at the very least I'm going to take the oath of celibacy."

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, that wasn't it. "What?" she asked blankly.

"If I can't even — make love and sense a disturbance in the Force at the same time, then I need to make a choice, I need to be — "

"Oh, Obi-Wan."

He looked at her, and found that her mouth was quivering as if she was trying not to laugh at him. He was too depressed over how his life was going to irreparably change to take any offense at her reaction and he only raised his eyebrows in question.

"I don't suppose Master Qui-Gon ever talked to you about that, either?" she managed to ask.

"Of course he did, he — " He gave a start as he realized that she wasn't referring to the oath of celibacy. "You mean, there _is_ a way to make love and —"

She nodded.

He stared at her, nonplussed, and then blurted out, "Well, _that_ never came up, either!"

Y'Chelle considered him. "I think our being together tonight is no coincidence."

And Obi-Wan said slowly, disbelieving, "He set me up!"

"Well, if it comes to that, he set me up, too. But a lesson such as this isn't so terrible a thing, is it?"

Although he felt like wallowing in self-pity a little longer, he had to admit she had a point. And her hand moving along his bare thigh was an added incentive to change his mood.

"The act of love," she lectured him, "is not separate from the Force. It is an opportunity to become even more attuned to the Force, because it is through the act of love that one can share how another experiences the Force." He nodded, ever the apt student, and she smiled impishly at him. "Since Master Qui-Gon has entrusted this part of your education to me, I must prove his trust. So, Padawan learner, we will practice and practice and keep on practicing until, like all your lessons, it becomes as second nature to you."

He caressed the curve from her waist to her hip. "As long as it takes?" he asked, his face innocent and his blue eyes anything but.

"As long and as often as it takes," she corrected him, a fingertip teasing the corners of his mouth into a smile that matched his eyes. Then she leaned forward and kissed him lightly, in promise of things to come.

"What must I do?" he asked.

"You must feel the Force, Obi-Wan, surrounding you, flowing through you. Breathe, and feel it move with you." He took a slow, deliberate breath, reaching inward, centering himself, and instead of the Force being something in the background, present but subliminal, he brought it to the fore in all its power.

Y'Chelle's hand went to his cheek, guiding his eyes to meet hers, and he saw her as the Force did, as a luminous being of light and warmth. Yielding to the subtle pressure of her hand, he bent his mouth to hers. He felt her tongue slide slowly into his mouth, her arms encircling his shoulders and pulling him close. Fully open to the Force, he was aware of her lips moving over his as well as of the mood in the rest of the residence, of the city at night, even of somewhere — on the ship, perhaps — Master Qui-Gon at his ease, relaxed and untroubled. He realized that in the past he had shut out the Force, the better, he'd thought, to experience his pleasure. He was learning now that the Force wasn't a hindrance at all.

Obi-Wan ran his fingers through Y'Chelle's dark hair, his hands gliding over her shoulders and down her arms, then up her back to cup her shoulder blades in his hands. As she pressed against him he suddenly felt a confused doubling of sensation — the feel of her in his arms, her body molding to his, and also, somehow, her pleasure at being held by him, her ardor rising with his every caress — and could hear nothing but the throb of his pulse, the pounding of his blood. He felt like he was falling fast and hard and, gasping, he broke the kiss. And as he stared into her dark, compelling eyes, he realized that he was aware of the Force in a new and totally different way.

He had learned from Master Qui-Gon to perceive the Force as a through-line leading inexorably forward, to be followed at all costs. Obi-Wan had taken on the Master's ability to see beyond the surface to what was essential underneath, not to be distracted or misled by appearance. This new perception — Y'Chelle's perception — was of the Force infusing every living thing. The surface, the appearance, of things was a necessary and essential part of the Force, to be appreciated and delighted in; not looked beyond but looked at. And now he understood why she was such a different Jedi Knight from Master Qui-Gon. The through-line wasn't as apparent to her, but the beauty and joy of things, simply and as they were, was never lost to her.

He drew back to gaze at her fully. She still shimmered and glowed with the Force but it shone through her face now, not just underneath. And he could see himself as she saw him, through her eyes, felt her genuine tenderness for him, her desire for his touch...

"You see now?" she asked softly. He nodded, mute with wonder. She lay back and tugged on his apprentice's braid to follow her, drawing his face down to hers, her voice low and playful. "Then let us begin, Padawan..."

END PART II


	3. Holding the Moon

The Sword and Stars  
Part III — Holding the Moon

SUMMARY: Qui-Gon spends an evening with the tavern owner.

* * *

Qui-Gon met with the captain and chief engineer of the diplomatic cruiser, who both found Obi-Wan's engineering principles sound and were eager to act on his recommendations. The Jedi Master then made his way through the city streets, aiming for the sparkling waters of the bay.

As he neared the waterfront the crowds of people gradually thinned, enough so that he could feel through the living Force the lazy, playful presence of pinnipeds. After another block or so he could hear them barking to each other, and then he was at the water's edge. He picked a deserted pier and walked to its end, near where the sleek, bewhiskered creatures sprawled on sun-warmed rocks or ducked in and out of the waves.

Qui-Gon leaned against the wooden railing, his forearms resting on the top bar and his clasped hands dangling over the water, appreciating the pinnipeds' simple lives, their undemanding thoughts, as he let his own thoughts drift where they would...

_Master, are you...do you ever get...lonely?_

He sighed. How could he explain to Obi-Wan that sometimes there wasn't a choice?

As a Jedi, Qui-Gon was long accustomed to being an object of curiosity wherever he went. He'd become used to a constant state of wariness in his dealings with others, ever conscious of having to put people at their ease around him. Even among his peers on the Jedi Council he was different, set apart, and he knew there wasn't a one, even his own Master, who didn't in some way feel that changing him would be for the best.

It was the price for insisting on the path he saw rather than the one the Council saw for him, for his certainty of where the Force led him, and he paid it willingly. But there were so few people who didn't exact that price from him, who accepted him for who he was and as he was...

...like the woman from the tavern, Chydanio...

Qui-Gon let that thought drift away. There was little enough to speculate on — an absurd conversation at Obi-Wan's expense, a softened look in her eyes after she'd teased him, an inexplicable feeling of trust he'd felt was mutual — and it wasn't as if he would see her again, anyway.

He watched as the sun set over the water and the pinnipeds took advantage of the fading light for last-minute fishing, and then he decided to return to the ship and eat dinner on the way. He found his way to the park he and Obi-Wan had walked through that afternoon, which was strangely deserted for so early in the evening. Several of the planet's satellites were in various stages of waxing and waning, but it was a full moon just starting to rise that gave him light enough to see his way uphill towards the docking bays.

As he reached the crest of the park, he saw that only one of the eateries appeared to be open — The Sword and Stars.

Master Yoda's words occurred to him now: _Coincidence, say you? The Force knows not coincidence._

And also Obi-Wan's: _Perhaps you could...get to know her better. Maybe become friends..._

Qui-Gon wondered briefly if his Padawan was more prescient than he realized, and strode purposefully towards the tavern.

Inside, Chydanio looked around the deserted dining room and sighed, putting down the slender piece of charcoal she'd been drawing with and giving up on the portrait. It didn't look quite right and she had no idea why even after closing her eyes and making a concentrated effort to conjure the Jedi Master's face before her. She turned to a blank page, changed her mind and instead flipped back through the sketchbook, which Ialii had been kind enough to bring back for her before he left with everyone else for the evening's festivities. She considered all the drawings she'd done in the last few hours, sketches to capture the images in her mind before they faded from memory.

Although she thought she'd done a good job with the grinning Obi-Wan, she actually liked the one where he was just about to break into a grin better. She also kind of liked the street scene with the two Jedi set apart, a self-created eye of the storm while chaos swirled around them. The one of Qui-Gon and Ialii might work — if she could only get Qui-Gon right! Impatient with herself, she flipped back to his portrait and considered it again. Proportions were correct. Eye shape. Height of forehead, she was pretty sure about that. His cheekbones...

She rubbed at her own cheek, frustrated. And then she noticed that someone was walking through the tavern doorway.

And her first thought was, _The nose! I got the nose all wrong!_ Because a tall, grave Jedi Master, his hands folded into the wide sleeves of his traveling cloak, was advancing towards her and regarding her intently.

In the empty tavern, Qui-Gon could immediately sense the living Force in Chydanio, that she possessed an openness that somehow had no expectation, only acceptance. Then he thought of Obi-Wan's physical description of her — not ill-favored — and deliberately focused on outward appearance, on the tall, lean frame with its broad shoulders, the wide mouth and crooked nose, the gray eyes set far apart. And something on the tanned, weathered cheek...

A corner of his mouth quirked upward as his eyes met hers.

She returned the hint of a smile with a smile of her own. "Yes, we're still open for business."

"Apparently yours is the only establishment that is, tonight."

She stepped closer, taking his cloak from him and hanging it by the door. "It was my turn this year to stay open for any stray travelers who didn't know to attend the celebration." At his raised eyebrows she went on, "The Singing of the Spring Moon? The big gathering in the center of the city? Everybody celebrating the first full moon of the season? Singing from sunset until Tiliress, the largest moon, rises? You failed to notice?"

"I must have been in the wrong part of town." He continued to regard her with no small amusement as he bowed slightly to her. "You weren't expecting customers this evening," he stated.

She tilted her head in question. "Why...?"

"Did you know that there's a large black smudge on your cheek?"

Startled, she put her hand to her face in reflex before she realized both hands were covered with charcoal. "I just made it worse, didn't I?"

"You did," he agreed, his hand briefly reaching out to cradle her jawline as his thumb brushed at the black powder on her cheek. "Nothing dangerous, I trust."

He touched her face so easily, so naturally it didn't feel like a presumption, and to her great surprise she didn't tense at his touch. "No, nothing soap and water can't take care of," she answered him. "Please — " She gestured for him to take a seat, about to offer the ritual words of greeting, and then changed her mind. It seemed absurd to treat him like a customer when it was only the two of them. " — I'll only be a minute. There's some tea at my table, please help yourself."

"Thank you."

Chydanio went back into the kitchen and scrubbed her face and hands, reflecting that if anyone else had touched her as he had she would have hit him, or at least said something mighty acerbic. It had to be a sense of false intimacy, she reasoned, a reaction to thinking about him all afternoon and busily sketching him from memory since she hadn't expected to see him again.

A timer went off in the kitchen and she remembered that she'd been making dinner for herself before he came in. She pulled things out of the oven and off the stove and stuck her head out the kitchen door.

Qui-Gon stood, arms folded across his broad chest, examining a print on the wall. He'd immediately recognized Ialii in the drawing by his distinctively spotted fur; the waiter's ears were perked absurdly as he buried his face against the shoulder of a human male. The man's eyes were squeezed tight shut and both his hands were clapped over his mouth as if to keep from laughing out loud.

He saw Chydanio and asked, "Are you the artist?"

She nodded. "It's one of the benefits of owning a tavern — it's also your own ready-made gallery." Then, changing the subject, "I've made some dinner. Nothing fancy, but there's plenty for two. If you want to brave my cooking, I'd be pleased if you joined me."

His being a Jedi Master truly didn't seem to make a difference here, and he suddenly realized that it was because of what he'd sensed earlier about her — her lack of expectation. It let her accept everything, even him, as he was. She offered him dinner as if he were a friend who had simply dropped by her house, treating him with no wariness, no apprehension, no awe, but as she would anyone else...normally. And he was surprised at how deeply grateful he was for that small favor.

He said sincerely, "I'd like that. Do you need any help?"

She gestured with her head. "There are place settings by the counter. Clean plates are here on the shelf," she said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Qui-Gon gathered utensils and linen and brought them to the table where a teapot and cup and notebook and metal box with various drawing tools lay. He set a place on one side of the table, then moved around to the other side where she had been sitting. And couldn't help noticing the picture she'd been working on when he'd come in.

One eyebrow firmly on the rise, he went to the shelf by the kitchen door for clean plates and another cup. The door opened then and Chydanio came out with a large tray.

He walked back with her to the table. "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn, by the way," he said conversationally.

"We never introduced ourselves this afternoon, did we?" she realized, and smiled at him. "I'm Chydanio Rydoras."

She set down the tray. And followed his glance to the sketchbook open to her half-finished portrait of him.

Her startled eyes met his disapproving ones. She'd forgotten that he'd been her subject, wished there were some way to hide the unfinished sketch — really, only a working study — but felt rooted to the spot as he indicated it.

He asked a question, and she held her breath. "My nose doesn't really look like that, does it?"

She almost laughed in relief. Of course he wasn't offended, was being fair-minded — nothing she had seen of him should have led her to believe otherwise, she realized, and didn't know why she'd been afraid of his reaction.

"Before you came in, I was trying to figure out why the portrait didn't look right," she explained. "When I saw you again, I realized what I'd gotten wrong." She gave an apologetic shrug. "I haven't had time to correct it yet." He conceded the point, and set out their plates and took a seat.

She poured tea for them both. Qui-Gon took the cup she handed him, and for the first time Chydanio noticed, really noticed, his hands. She'd had the larger cups made specially, tired of everything feeling so dainty and fragile to her and wanting something she could hold in both her hands, something that made her feel smaller than she actually was. But the cup looked perfectly ordinary in his grasp, his long, blunt fingers curving around it easily. They were large, strong hands, obviously capable, far from graceless, gentle if they needed to be...

And then just as he had that afternoon he cradled the cup in both hands, seeming almost to make a ceremony of holding it just so, staring into its depths, closing his eyes, inhaling the steam before he took a slow, deep sip — and all of this happened in a matter of seconds, yet Chydanio had a sense of time standing still around him as he enjoyed this simple pleasure. Or maybe not so simple. She found herself imitating how he held his cup as she took a sip, and wondered if he'd sit still long enough for her to do a study of those hands.

He sat back in his chair, relaxing comfortably — and abruptly he was sitting bolt upright, his whole body tensed, the cup barely set down on the table before he reached for his lightsaber. His face had taken on a look of fierce concentration, his gaze focused inward, questing.

Chydanio stopped breathing. The instantaneous shift in his demeanor reminded her powerfully of just who he was. Instinctively she twisted her wrist to release the small blaster she kept strapped to her forearm under her sleeve, the safety releasing as it dropped into her palm. She had a clear line of sight to the front door and had only to lean slightly to see the back door, but she knew somehow that the danger wasn't nearby.

As she looked at his face made unfamiliar in its intensity, the harsh lines in stark relief, the blue eyes so remote and cold they'd faded to gray — just as suddenly as he'd transformed himself, without so much as a blink he was back, the tension readying him for action gone as if it had never been there. She swallowed hard against the fear that had arisen at the sight of him so changed, finding it hard to understand just what had happened.

His gaze shortened, took her in again, and then went to the blaster in her hand.

"That will not be necessary," he said in a quiet voice, and then answered the question she didn't ask. "I sensed a disturbance in the Force. But even as I determined where it was, I realized that my apprentice Obi-Wan and another Jedi were already present and able to take action at the very moment it was required. For that reason, the coup attempt will not be successful."

"Coup?" she wondered aloud, replacing the blaster under her sleeve, her adrenaline rush starting to abate. "At the governor's residence?" He nodded. "I'd heard a few rumors of unrest in the governor's family, but I never thought..." She trailed off as she saw an almost-smile lift a corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. "What is it?"

He replayed the image in his mind just to be sure he'd seen it correctly. "This afternoon Obi-Wan met the Jedi Knight Y'Chelle Anacris, found her a more comely companion than his Master and went to tour the city with her. Somehow," he said slowly, "the two of them found themselves at the governor's residence in an apparent state of undress at the time their services were required."

Chydanio pondered his statement. "I see. Is that a Jedi custom?"

"No," he assured her, matching her expression of bland interest.

She gave in first, grinning widely before a laugh escaped her. "Obi-Wan's quite a handful, isn't he?"

"To put it mildly." And the smile hovering about his mouth glinted bright in his eyes.

Despite Chydanio's disavowal of her cooking skills, the food was good. They talked easily, with no awkwardness about topic, and even their silences were companionable. When they pushed their dishes away, Qui-Gon gestured towards Chydanio's sketchbook, asking permission with his eyes to look at it. She nodded, and he began to flip back through it.

He stopped at the drawing of Obi-Wan on the verge of a grin, examining it with approval. "He's full of youth and spirit yet, although he'd like to think of himself as mature and serious and imperturbable. You met him only once, but you've captured him well."

"Unlike my sketch of you."

"I just don't see how you could have missed the fact that my nose had a...misunderstanding with something."

She raised her eyebrows in question. "Like my nose did, you mean?"

"Yes, although I doubt it was the same misunderstanding. Mine involved my Master's walking stick and, shall we say, unreliable control of the Force when I was an apprentice."

She freshened her tea, then pointed to a spot near the back door. "A drunken brawl. Which I didn't start, but I did end."

He looked where she indicated, and saw the print on the wall he'd been examining earlier. "There's a picture of Ialii back there, with someone else — "

"Jancer, my husband. It's from Presentation Day for Ialii's two little kits." She half-smiled, half-grimaced at the remembrance. "I was ready to kill them both that day."

"The kits?"

"Ialii and Jancer. For some reason they just couldn't stop laughing all the way through the ceremony. But it didn't take much to set those two off; they'd been best friends since Ialii was a kit and Jancer was a boy."

Qui-Gon didn't miss her use of the past tense. "Where is Jancer now?"

"He died ten years ago in a speeder accident."

He reached for her hand in immediate sympathy. "I'm sorry, Chydanio."

She met his concerned gaze, not drawing her hand away, and for the first time saw the sadness behind all else in his blue eyes. And suddenly she felt he knew what it was to grieve a love, that he was in need of comfort, too. She turned their hands so they were palm-to-palm, and then linked her fingers through his.

"Don't misunderstand. I miss him, but there are only good memories." She willed the Jedi to know it as truth, not just for herself but for him as well. And gradually the light in his eyes changed and ancient wisdom asserted itself over present pain. His grip tightened briefly, acknowledging her words.

She looked down at their joined hands and smiled in sudden reminiscence. "I first met Jancer and Ialii during that drunken brawl. The fight broke out and Ialii thought it was some sort of human dancing and jumped in, and Jancer jumped in after him to pull him back out. Despite their 'help' — and the fact that the Jedi are never around when you need them — " She shot him a teasing glance, and then looked back down again. " — I managed to escape with only a broken nose. And you should have seen the Corellian deck officer who started it all when I finally threw him out."

"It sounds like you did just fine without the Jedi," he said. "You resolved a conflict and met your future spouse at the same time. I doubt the Jedi could have done any better."

"It's funny, isn't it," she said slowly, and looked up again. "You know, in my family I wasn't the beauty, or the dreamer, or the genius. I was the practical one. Falling in love, marriage — that was for the weak-minded, the hopeless romantics, not for me."

He couldn't help smiling at her naïve attitude. "And then?"

"And then I met Jancer and...I found out that the heart doesn't even bother to ask permission. It just gives itself away. And then before you know it you've been married for twelve years!" She smiled at him. "Are you married, Qui-Gon?"

He shook his head. "Training a Padawan is too all-consuming a task for a spouse to have more than a peripheral place in my life. I think you'd agree that wouldn't be fair."

"I guess so. The important thing, I think, is to be grateful for every happiness that comes your way. And then let them go and move on." She was thoughtful. "It's enough that the Force guides us to our destinies. All we can do is love, and trust. The rest is out of our hands."

He regarded her with some surprise. "I was trying to explain that to Obi-Wan just today. It's not an easy lesson, especially for one so young."

"I know. And Ialii's kits are even younger than Obi-Wan."

"How old were they when Jancer died?"

"Three years. It's not just that, either. Their mother just — left one day. She was beautiful and sweet but she was never really happy here. No warning, no explanation, and she never came back. That on top of Jancer's death — the kits took it hard, and so did Ialii. I've been helping him to raise the kits ever since."

"I know it hasn't been easy for you." From anyone else it would have sounded condescending, but not from him, not with the weight of understanding behind his words.

She shrugged. "For ourselves, how strong can we be? But for someone else — we can find strength we never knew we had."

Qui-Gon knew she didn't want him to feel sorry for her, and yet he clearly sensed just how much she had been through. He asked suddenly, "Who is strong for you, Chydanio?"

_I have no idea._ Startled by that realization, she turned the question back on him. "Who is strong for you, Qui-Gon?"

His pensive silence told her his answer was the same. Feeling awkward, she tried to put what she felt into more adequate words. "It's not that I need, or want, someone to take care of me. It's just nice sometimes to...rest, to have a safe place where you can stop worrying for a while, to be with someone you don't have to be strong for, just enjoy their company."

Qui-Gon met her steady, clear-eyed gaze and agreed quietly, "Yes."

A bright soprano voice trilled from the tavern doorway, "What, only one customerr? You should have closed the doorrs and joined us!"

Chydanio glanced away from Qui-Gon to see who had come in, and then explained with a small smile, "It's the night shift." Raising her voice she greeted, "How was it?"

There was praise and approval from the group of various beings who came in and began changing into their working gear. A delicate green-scaled biped with a lilting sideways walk added, "The crrowds arren't farr behind us." It went into the kitchen, saying over its shoulder, "You should leave while therre's still a chance, Chydanio."

"I suppose I should," she sighed, stacking dirty dishes on the tray. "It'll be impossible to get through the streets otherwise."

Qui-Gon helped her clear the table. "What do I owe you for dinner?"

She handed him the loaded tray. "Take that back to the kitchen and we'll call it even."

When he came back out, she had packed up her drawing materials and was just binding her sketchbook closed. Yes, her sense of openness held no expectation; even after their dinner together, she would let the evening end here and not look for more.

Well, he was doing no such thing.

He stood before her, arms folded, his expression one of concern and deliberation. "Since you claim there is never a Jedi around when you need one...why don't I see you home?"

She smiled, pleased at his unexpected offer. "I'd like that."

They collected their cloaks and set off away from the park, the streets just starting to come to life again with beings making their way back from the festivities.

They wound their way through one street, turned and went down another, then they started up a street that climbed steeply away from the tavern and the space docks. They conversed quietly, but as the street kept climbing for block after block, Qui-Gon ventured, "And where exactly _do_ you live?"

"You should learn to ask that before you offer to see someone home," she pointed out, but then added, taking pity on him, "Not far now." They turned onto a narrower street that was so steep it was paved with steps. Her long legs took them two at a time, with the Jedi close behind. And then abruptly they reached their destination.

It was a compact, free-standing building perched at the very top of the tall hill, and he guessed the corner room facing them was her studio, with its large windows angled to take advantage of available light. It wasn't fancy or elaborate, yet there was nothing impersonal about the house. It looked and felt, even from the outside, like a home.

"So what's the fair rate of exchange for a Jedi escort home?" she asked.

"No payment is necessary. It is an honor to serve," he told her.

She considered him, then the clear, starry sky, where six little moons danced attendance on Tiliress, the only moon at full. She set her sketchbook and drawing box on the ground and took one of his hands in hers. Turning it palm up, she held it away from his body, raising it until it was slightly below shoulder height. "There. Look back, Qui-Gon."

He did, and saw the whole city laid out beneath them sparkling with light. Above the darkness of the bay the full blue-white moon floated, and Chydanio had positioned him so it looked as if he held the moon in the palm of his hand.

A corner of his mouth twitched upward at the illusion. "No one's ever given me a moon before." They both watched as he cupped his large hand as if to cradle the little satellite, then deftly seemed to roll his hand underneath it, balance it on his fingertips, roll it back and bounce it off his palm, bobbing and weaving slightly to add to the effect, let the moon slip through his fingers as it came down and caught it on the back of his hand. She laughed, delighted. He flipped his hand palm up again.

"Don't drop it!"

"There's that danger, of course. Perhaps I should give the moon back to the sky. Would you think me ungrateful?"

"Of course not." He held his hand very still, as if exactly positioning the moon, and then blew gently and steadily before he moved his hand away. The moon stayed where it was.

She admired his handiwork, and then turned to him, smiling. His answering smile, brilliant in the moonlight, made her breath catch.

"Don't laugh," she said softly, and then leaned close and kissed him. Briefly she felt his warm breath on her face, the harsh tickle of his beard on her skin, and then she moved away.

His hand went to her face before she could withdraw farther, touching her as he had when he'd entered the tavern that evening. "Why would I laugh?" he asked as his thumb caressed her heated cheek.

"I haven't kissed anybody in a long time," she confessed.

He smiled. "I'm flattered." This far from the crowds below, he could sense her thoughts strongly without even the benefit of her troubled gray eyes showing every emotion to him. There was tenderness there, and desire, and beneath them an uncertainty — about what his feelings were, about daring to give in to her own feelings — that he found wonderfully endearing.

Before he could assure her, she asked, "Would you object to another?"

In answer he moved his face closer to hers. She pressed her lips to his in the softest of kisses, and lingered as he cupped her face in both his hands. He felt the light caress of her eyelashes as her eyes closed, and he deepened the kiss.

Her hands hesitantly went to his arms, moved up to his shoulders, finally slid through his hair, cradling the back of his head, and he felt a small sigh against his lips as she pressed her body to his.

He released her mouth so his lips could travel over her face, bestowing kisses on her temples, her eyelids, her forehead. She asked in an unsteady voice, "You don't have to go anywhere, do you?"

If she'd been a Jedi, she wouldn't have had to ask. Through the Force they both would have known they desired each other without question or doubt — no words would have been necessary —

"Qui-Gon," she said awkwardly, "I...I'd like to love you tonight."

He drew away suddenly, looking deep into her eyes. Words might not be necessary between Jedi but, sometimes, words were so, so sweet to hear.

Misinterpreting his expression, she tried to be clearer. "Please stay, Qui-Gon. Please have me."

"Chydanio..." His voice was a low, smooth caress that made her shiver. He loosened the neck of his tunic and guided her hand inside to rest against his bare chest. She felt his heart beating beneath her palm, as rapidly as her own.

"Come on," she breathed. She took his hand in hers and started to lead the way to her house, but turned back when she remembered the sketchbook and drawing box still on the ground. Qui-Gon stretched out his free hand in a beckoning gesture and called them both to her. She caught the box and book in mid-air, smiling; she'd half-suspected those hands of his were magic.

She keyed the front door open and led the way to the sleeping-room. Tiliress looked in through the large windows, flooding the room with moonlight. She unstrapped the blaster from her arm and placed it on a small table next to the bed. Qui-Gon placed his lightsaber next to it, and then picked up her hand, pushing up her sleeve to run his fingers along the marks the holster had left on her arm, soothing them away.

She watched his hand move, feeling her body come alive even under such a gentle caress — and saw with surprise a burn she'd incurred just that morning disappear. "Did you see that?" she asked.

He looked more closely at her arm, and then pushed up her other sleeve. Most of the burn marks were old, but some were more recent. "The Force can be used to heal," he explained as, with a look of concentration, he drew his hand slowly down first one arm, and then the other. The newer burns faded, leaving a tingling sensation that gradually faded, also.

He brought her arm to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist before he brushed the delicate skin against his cheek. She pressed her wrist there, and then moved her hands to the back of his head, unbinding his hair and encouraging his mouth to meet hers.

They fumbled with each other's unfamiliar clothing, guiding each other's hands and reveling in discovery until they finally stood revealed to each other in the moonlight. She caught her breath, surprised at how deep her arousal went at the sight of him, at the desire so clear in his beautiful eyes as he looked at her.

They slipped under the bedcovers, hands and mouths reaching for each other. Qui-Gon found her Force sense with his, drawing it out, augmenting it, and then their every touch, every taste, every emotion belonged to them both, and when sensation became so intense they thought they'd shatter utterly into a thousand separate pieces, release completed them, drew them back together and made them whole again.

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, nuzzling, kissing gently. Qui-Gon's arms were strong and comforting, but hard as Chydanio tried she couldn't stop trembling. In the heat of passion she hadn't questioned, but now she realized she'd never before felt anything like what had happened, had never lost herself so completely in loving that it was as if she _were_ her lover...

...and was him still. She moistened her lips and asked, "You're happy, aren't you?"

He paused mid-nuzzle to smile at her. "Yes, I am."

She took a deep breath. "How do I _know_ that — know it beyond any question of knowing?" Her voice turned unsteady as she demanded, "What's happening — ?"

She scrambled to sit up, terribly frightened. He sat up beside her, gathering her back in his arms. "It's all right," he soothed, realizing suddenly that she'd had no idea what to expect. "I didn't think to tell you, to warn you, what the act of love would be like with the Force. Without training, or even preparation, it can be overwhelming."

She tried to speak, choked, and suddenly started to cry. But even as the tears streamed down her cheeks she felt herself calming, as if her crying were a purely physical response to what was inside her. Qui-Gon rubbed his hand up and down her back, comforting her, helping her draw out and expend all the emotion coursing through her, until her tears stopped and she'd quieted.

He caressed her wet cheek with his fingers. "I'm sorry, Chydanio. Are you all right?"

She nodded. She felt at peace, felt her strength returning when she knew she should be exhausted, and suspected that that was also the Force's doing. "It takes some getting used to," she admitted, her voice still a little rough from her tears. "I'd never been _inside_ someone like that. I thought I might be losing my mind..." She took a deep breath and shook her head slightly. Then, tucking a stray lock of his hair behind his ear, she looked at him and deadpanned, "But I wasn't losing my mind. I was gaining yours."

Qui-Gon saw the gleam in her gray eyes and, convinced she was fine, he pulled her back underneath the covers, tipped her chin up and planted a kiss on each upturned corner of her wide mouth, on her upper lip, on her lower. She sighed agreeably and snuggled closer, accepting the doubled sensation of both kissing and being kissed.

"Now," she said when he let her have the use of her mouth again, "think hard, Master Jedi. Is there anything else I should know about the Force?"

He propped himself up on an elbow, seriously considering. And then he looked up, and smiled. "Look out the window, " he said, and she turned. He put an arm around her and pulled her close against him, her back to his front, whispering in her ear, "What do you see?"

She was silent at first, wondering what he wanted her to notice. The night sky still had seven moons and an assortment of stars in it. Tiliress still filled the sleeping-room with moonlight...

Moonlight. Tiliress should have risen beyond the window by now, taking its light with it —

She demanded, only half-joking, "Qui-Gon, what did you do to the moon?!"

"Nothing. You saw me put it back."

"But it's stuck!"

"Actually, it's not; we elongated subjective time. The Jedi are able to slow the sense of time passing, such as during meditation — "

"— or when you take your first sip of tea," she said in sudden understanding. He nodded. And then she asked, "'We'?"

"Every being's sense of the living Force is different. Like most Jedi, I can only elongate subjective time for short periods. That means that it's you, with your sense of the Force, who's helping me...hold the moon."

She puzzled that over as she looked at Tiliress. "How much time has passed, really?"

"Only a few minutes." He smoothed her rumpled hair and kissed her behind her ear. "We still have the whole night ahead of us."

"That presents quite a few possibilities," she mused aloud.

"Yes, it does."

And, grinning fiercely, she turned and pounced on him.

END PART III


	4. Holiday

The Sword and Stars  
Part IV — Holiday

SUMMARY: With the ion storm still restricting space travel, the Jedi decide to spend a day at the park.

Qui-Gon's commlink signaled as he walked with Chydanio back to the tavern.

A voice self-consciously cleared its throat before it ventured, "Master?" Obi-Wan sounded exactly like someone who had waited as long as he thought decent before making the call, not sure if the person he wanted to contact was "occupied" or not.

Qui-Gon traded an amused glance with Chydanio at the young apprentice's expense. "Yes, Obi-Wan?"

Something suspiciously like a relieved sigh at the promptness of Qui-Gon's response issued from the commlink, as did a soft giggle that was cut off abruptly, as if a hand had been firmly placed over a mouth. Obi-Wan asked, feigning nonchalance, "Shall we meet somewhere this morning?"

"Yes. What about The Sword and Stars?"

"Certainly."

"And if you happen to see Y'Chelle, tell her she's welcome to join us as well." He loftily ignored the elbow Chydanio poked in his ribs.

"I shall, Master." Obi-Wan cleared his throat again. "What time...I mean..."

"At your leisure, Padawan. I am already here." Qui-Gon cut the connection before the younger man could stumble through any more delicate circumlocutions.

As they crossed the terrace and walked in the front door, Chydanio murmured, "He showed great self-restraint."

A loud argument was in progress in the kitchen, which the tavern's early-morning customers had learned from long habit to ignore.

"And what am I supposed to do with eight _crates_ of them?" an angry voice demanded.

Another voice said sarcastically, "Take a little citrus juice and a lot of tree-bark spice — "

Something that sounded like a large pile of metal containers crashed to the floor. Beings continued their conversations, watched the holovid-feed on the projector above the counter, or concentrated on their food. The only person who seemed concerned about the noise was Qui-Gon.

"Would a Jedi's services be required?" he offered.

Chydanio sighed. "No. Cooks think they're hired to be temperamental, that's all." She pointed to the back door. "I hope the back terrace will be suitable for meditating. If not, let me know. I could probably get you into Garin's place, he doesn't open until the noon hour and it'd be empty and quiet there."

"I'm sure this will be fine," he said. With a finger he lightly guided her face to his and kissed her.

There was nothing embarrassed, nothing unsure about the Jedi Master, even in such a small thing as a gesture of affection. Chydanio smiled into the kiss, a hand resting on Qui-Gon's chest, and then she turned towards the kitchen.

Standing in the doorway, she quickly weighed which objects within easy reach of the cook and the produce buyer could be turned into potential weapons before she called out, "Fair morning!" knowing full well they weren't fooled by her tone of exaggerated cheerfulness.

The cook's feathers reluctantly settled and the buyer's claws retracted when they saw it was her, and they returned her greeting grudgingly. "I'd better see a menu for midday — that involve all eight crates — in five minutes," she said, skewering them both with a glance before she went back to the prep area.

Ialii was already there busily gathering supplies, and he turned at the smell of her, his tail beginning to lash back and forth in what Chydanio knew signaled impudence.

"Fair morning," she said warily.

"Fair morning." He reached up and brushed his whiskers against her cheek in greeting. It was a good sign, but Chydanio took the precautionary measure of grabbing the tip of his tail firmly, ready to pull if she needed to. He went on airily, "The speeder's half loaded up, and the kits are coming in a little later. They're helping Ryje." Ryje was Ialii's second wife, pregnant with triplets.

"Glad to hear it." She waited for the inevitable.

"Night shift said that you left here last night with a human male of compatible age, so tall — " He measured off with his paws. " — so wide, with a long, neat mane."

"And face fur. Yes, I did."

"The same human male you served personally yesterday afternoon?"

She decided to save him some time. "And the same one I walked in with this morning, yes." She stared at him, daring him to ask the next question.

He stared back. "I already know." He tapped his nose significantly. Her defiant expression melted and her grip loosened on his tail, which he snaked around her waist, hugging her merrily. "I'm just waiting for you to admit it..."

Qui-Gon made his way to the back terrace. The chairs and tables were still stacked to the side, leaving a large clear area enclosed by a high stone fence blocking the view of the docking bays. Ivy climbed wildly over the fence, disguising it and mingling with the overhanging tree branches from the other side.

It was quiet outside this early in the morning, and peaceful. Qui-Gon knelt on the ground, his hands resting palms down on his thighs, and closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun.

He had much to think about, and the memory of loving Chydanio the night before, of awaking to the warm weight of her snuggled up against him, gave way to the question of what exactly had happened between them.

Chydanio hadn't meant to open herself to him so fully, but she had no training in mental disciplines, no ability to hold anything back. Qui-Gon had allowed her to sense of him only what the living Force did — the here and now, the feelings and thoughts and sensations of the moment. But she'd revealed to him so much more. He'd seen her family, her beautiful sib, her dreaming sib, her genius sib. He'd seen where she'd grown up. He knew her bitter disappointment when she'd been denied the chance to go to art school, and her justifiable pride in making the tavern a success. He'd felt her deep love for Jancer, her anger when she'd found out that she wasn't able to have children — a thousand hurts, and a thousand joys. She'd revealed herself to him, given him everything that was her, in a way no one else ever had. And he was leaving within the next few days.

What was the proper return?

Just as he was reaching the centerpoint where his questions and musings would be balanced by the insight of the Force, he sensed Obi-Wan and Y'Chelle approaching, long before they actually reached the tavern. They had obviously shared a Force-bonding the night before and weren't aware of how strongly they were broadcasting their delight in each other's company. More than that, though, Obi-Wan was projecting a changed Force sense, a change that the Master needed to focus on in order to define and understand it.

Qui-Gon sighed minutely; meditation on his own situation would not be one of his accomplishments that morning.

Y'Chelle and Obi-Wan joined him and arranged themselves so that Master and Knight flanked Padawan, the better to reinforce his meditative state. Between them they managed to move Obi-Wan from emotion to the closest thing to calm Qui-Gon believed the apprentice capable of at that moment — but not before he caught enough of the younger man's stray thoughts to piece together exactly what had happened the night before. So after their meditation time, the Master fixed Obi-Wan with one of his fur-ruffling stares.

The apprentice instantly colored, looking defensive and vaguely guilty.

Y'Chelle, ignoring Qui-Gon's expression for the undercurrent of amusement beneath it, said tranquilly, "As you know, Master, Obi-Wan is a quick study and an excellent pupil."

"Yes, I know."

The younger man gathered himself together and returned Qui-Gon's gaze, a martial light in his eyes as he asserted, "There seem to be some gaps in my training, Master, some things you've seen fit not to share with me."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow as he regarded his Padawan. "If you have any questions Y'Chelle did not answer last night, feel free to ask me now."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and then rather comically closed it again, realizing belatedly what Y'Chelle and Qui-Gon already had — that any question he cared to ask would embarrass him far more than any answer would embarrass the Master. In a low voice, he conceded, "No questions, Master."

"I see. Shall we continue?" The younger man nodded.

Still kneeling, the three Jedi stretched slowly and meditatively, performing the same ritualized movements all Jedi had from the beginning of their training as guardians of the galaxy, until they were standing, relaxed, balanced, at one with the Force.

They activated their lightsabers and in the same unhurried, meditative way, they ran through a set of dueling exercises. With each repeated set they increased the pace until they were performing a carefully choreographed, one-sided duel at full strength and speed. Qui-Gon stepped forward and faced Obi-Wan and they engaged, weapons flashing as they struck, withdrew, parried and thrust again and again, totally attuned to each other.

Y'Chelle paralleled Obi-Wan's movements beside him, and then when Qui-Gon moved away she took his place. Obi-Wan found that, although each action was still the same, Y'Chelle's style was very different from the Master's — a slight pivot here, an unusually balanced stance there, her weight shifting unexpectedly, her lunges and swings differently timed — and he used his newly-learned understanding of the Force to stay with her stroke for stroke, defending, attacking. As their laser swords crossed one last time, the blades sliding down each other until they were hilt-to-hilt and the two Jedi stood toe-to-toe, Y'Chelle grinned at him, delighting in how well-matched they were.

Returning her grin and breathing hard, he disengaged from her. And almost immediately Y'Chelle turned to face Qui-Gon, whose lightsaber was already raised, ready for her. Obi-Wan fell back a few paces and watched, mesmerized. The Force flowed through them both like living energy, balancing them, making Qui-Gon light and graceful, giving Y'Chelle grounding and intensity, bringing them both in harmony with each other. They circled as they fought, dancers in an intricate dance, and the end caught Obi-Wan by surprise even though he knew it was coming. Knight and Master stepped apart and saluted each other with their sabers before they deactivated them.

Qui-Gon nodded, approval burning bright in his eyes. She was indeed strong in the Force and she wielded it with authority and grace. "Well done, Y'Chelle."

She met his gaze proudly. "Thank you, Master Qui-Gon."

"That was beautiful," Obi-Wan exclaimed as they walked back through the tavern to a table on the front terrace.

"You sound surprised." Y'Chelle reached up and pinched his chin, holding his gaze with hers as she teased, "I thought you knew that strength and beauty don't cancel each other out."

"Especially since both are such a part of her," Qui-Gon added, and from him it wasn't a compliment, but an honest assessment. Y'Chelle realized that she had finally proven herself to the Jedi Master, and she flashed a grateful smile at him.

Obi-Wan suddenly realized as they sat down that he and Y'Chelle hadn't eaten dinner the night before. "I'm starving!" he declared. "I could wrestle the ears off a gundark and eat it raw."

"I wouldn't recommend it, Padawan."

"Gundark for breakfast?" Y'Chelle made a face. "I wonder if they have any jelly pastries..."

A young waiter took a stumbling hop out of the tavern door as if somebody had pushed her from behind. "_You_ wanted to meet them — go!"

The two kits were barely as tall as Y'Chelle, and the one who had been pushed had Ialii's spotted coloring but her fur was tufted all over instead of sleek, as if she was still growing into her coat. Behind her, the one who had pushed her was also tufted and mostly orange, with white ears, one white paw, and a black smudge along her nose.

They both tripped lightly over to the table and held a teapot out. "Will you refresh yourselves?" they chorused.

Y'Chelle was utterly charmed. "Yes, we will," she answered warmly, gesturing for them to set the teapot down. "My name is Y'Chelle, and this is Obi-Wan and this is Qui-Gon. May we know your names?"

The spotted one answered, "My name is Ruslan. This is — "

"I'm Kusmin," the orange kit put in, her whiskers quivering as she stared openly at them. "You _do_ smell funny!" This earned her a questioning smile from Y'Chelle, a smirk from Obi-Wan, a look of long suffering from Qui-Gon, and a sharply-pulled tail. "Ow!"

"Not funny!" Ruslan corrected in a firm voice. "Just...different."

The two younger Jedi placed a substantial order for breakfast in between arguing about which leaves to put in the tea while the Master looked on tolerantly, and then when the kits had gone back inside Obi-Wan, ostensibly to explain Kusmin's comment, gave Y'Chelle a greatly embellished account of his and Qui-Gon's encounter with Ialii the afternoon before, to her immense delight. Qui-Gon didn't bother correcting Obi-Wan's story; he was more interested in observing his interaction with Y'Chelle, realizing that the apprentice's changed Force sense was due in large part to Y'Chelle's presence and that, in order to understand it, he needed to understand the young Jedi Knight as well.

Ruslan and Kusmin brought place settings and set the table, Kusmin at first keeping a careful distance between her and Qui-Gon while Ruslan tried not to be as obvious about the Jedi Master's scent. But as Y'Chelle and Obi-Wan engaged the two kits in conversation and they became more used to the Jedi, Kusmin began eagerly questioning them and Ruslan, just as curious but not as outgoing as her orange sib, contented herself with being brave enough to stand as close to Qui-Gon as she dared.

When their table number was called the kits took off in mid-sentence with eager alacrity and came back out performing a precarious balancing act. Three Jedi quickly sent the Force to meet the young waiters and made sure everything, including the kits, arrived safely at the table. As Ruslan and Kusmin headed back to the kitchen Chydanio came out on the terrace and they romped happily to meet her. She bent down to accept the brush of their whiskers against her face before she shooed the two of them back inside, and then she made her way to their table.

Qui-Gon took Chydanio's hand and guided her to the chair beside his. It was merely a chivalrous gesture, but Y'Chelle nudged Obi-Wan all the same, asking the question with her eyes. He had to shrug, unsure. As he responded to Chydanio's greeting, he concentrated on Qui-Gon's Force sense to try to get an answer. And he discovered, not conclusive evidence, but a subtle change in the older Jedi. Obi-Wan had never sensed the Master this much at ease, this relaxed, in the presence of a non-Jedi. Or even among the Jedi, for that matter.

When Obi-Wan focused back on the present, the two women had just introduced themselves to each other. Chydanio was smiling at the young woman with the sparkling dark eyes and engaging grin and wishing for her sketchbook as she had the day before. "I can see why Obi-Wan forsook his Master's company for yours." As both the young Jedi suddenly turned self-conscious, she went on, "I just heard on the morning holovid-feed that there was a coup attempt at the governor's residence last night that was foiled by the governor's personal guards...? I heard a different version of events last night."

Y'Chelle was the first to get her self-possession back. "The Jedi prefer not to call attention to their actions," she offered modestly.

"Especially when their actions are performed unclothed," Qui-Gon observed. Chydanio choked on a laugh, and both Obi-Wan and Y'Chelle couldn't help laughing at themselves. The Master allowed himself a small smile as his eyes met Chydanio's.

"Have you had a chance to eat?" he asked her. She shook her head. "We have more than enough to share," he pointed out unnecessarily. "Please join us."

Obi-Wan served the tea and the Jedi took their first sip together while Chydanio watched, fascinated. Then, since there were only three place settings at the table, Qui-Gon offered his teacup to the tavern owner, and their hands lingered touching as she took it from him. Obi-Wan nudged Y'Chelle. She frowned slightly, not convinced.

As they began to serve themselves Kusmin came charging back out onto the terrace with her spotted sib following at only a slightly more sedate pace, the both of them skidding to a stop beside their table and demanding breathlessly, "Is your meal complete?" "Can anything be improved?"

"You might wait until they've tasted their food," Chydanio suggested gently, and hid a smile as the two kits promptly sat back on their heels, tails curled about their toes, and watched the Jedi with ears perked and whiskers aquiver.

Suddenly Ruslan, more observant than Kusmin, realized that Chydanio had a cup and Qui-Gon didn't, and she moaned under her breath, "Not enough place settings...!" Her tail wrapped around Kusmin's wrist, tugging her towards the counter as she explained under her breath what they'd done wrong.

Quickly Y'Chelle and Obi-Wan sampled some food, so that by the time the kits returned they could honestly tell them, "It tastes fine." "Nothing can be improved." Very pleased with themselves, the kits took themselves back to the kitchen. Obi-Wan grinned after them, and a laugh escaped Y'Chelle at the kits' too-eager serving style.

"I know, I know," Chydanio said. "But they're cute, and that makes up for a lot."

"Is that the philosophy that gets you through your day?" Qui-Gon asked her, and the younger Jedi realized that he was teasing Chydanio. Before Obi-Wan could elbow Y'Chelle, Chydanio, who didn't seem surprised by Qui-Gon's comment, gave the Jedi Master an innocent look.

"You mean it's not working on you?" she asked.

"It's not necessary," he corrected. She caressed his jawline with a finger, smiling at him, and then sweetly kissed him. Obi-Wan glanced sideways at Y'Chelle. She nodded, and they both grinned at each other.

The topic of conversation soon turned to their prospects for the day. Qui-Gon had contacted Traffic Central first thing that morning. "The ion storm flight restrictions haven't been lifted yet," he said. "I can't even contact the provisional government on Carlienti, much less reach the Jedi Council on Coruscant. In short, we can consider today a holiday."

A pair of dark eyes lit with excitement at the possibilities. "Do you have any suggestions for what to do today, Chydanio?" Y'Chelle asked.

"There's really one thing none of you should miss, and that's the Spring Moon Blessing Ceremony today," she said. "There'll be a stage at Aquatic Park with entertainment all day, and kiosks set up for vending. Kusmin and Ruslan will be part of the choral recitation in the afternoon. At sunset Tivelis's master drummer will begin to perform and at moonrise will be the Blessing Ceremony."

"That sounds wonderful," Obi-Wan said. "Can you join us?"

"For the evening festivities, I'm sure I could. The tavern's got one of the kiosks, and Qui-Gon offered to help out. Ialii just took a speeder over with supplies and he'll be back for us and the kits — we're working the first shift."

Obi-Wan and Y'Chelle exchanged eager glances, and then declared, "We'd like to help, too!"

* * *

Ialli paused in prepping the midday meal to follow Qui-Gon's gaze across Aquatic Park to where Kusmin, Ruslan, Y'Chelle and Obi-Wan were helping to reassemble the stage that had been in the city center the night before. In their colorful work tunics the foursome stood out from the rest of the work crew and the two men watched as Y'Chelle lightly vaulted herself to stand on Kusmin's shoulders and, with much apparent coaxing, Ruslan climbed onto Obi-Wan's shoulders so they could help raise and steady a lighting pole. It was clear from way the kits and Jedi worked together that they were having a great time.

Ialii commented, "You should keep an eye on that boy, Qui-Gon; he's only been on the planet one day and he's already collected himself a harem."

The Jedi Master's mouth quirked upwards; he'd been thinking the same thing. But Obi-Wan striking up such quick friendships made an aspect of the change that Qui-Gon had sensed in him earlier that morning more apparent — the apprentice no longer believed that it was necessary to keep himself aloof from those around him in order to be a Jedi. He guessed he had Y'Chelle to thank for teaching his Padawan that lesson, too.

Qui-Gon looked down at Ialii, whose efforts to be friendly that morning, and especially this sally of humor, hadn't gone unnoticed, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Jealous, Ialii?"

He chuffed. "When I was young, Qui-Gon, three beautiful females was a slow day."

Behind them, Chydanio made a gagging sound. Qui-Gon agreed with Ialii calmly, "A slow day, to be sure. In my own youth, a fine set of whiskers was found particularly attractive."

"They were a definite asset." Ialii ran a meditative paw along his own set. As Qui-Gon stroked his own bearded chin for emphasis, Ialii went on, "As was a well-groomed coat in mixed colors." He looked up at the Jedi. "Perhaps if Obi-Wan's mane was brindled as yours is..."

"You two are really adorable when you're boasting." They turned, and saw Chydanio grinning at them.

Ialii's ears flattened. "We are not adorable!"

"We weren't boasting," Qui-Gon added.

"Well, since you two are getting along so well, Ialii, why don't you show Qui-Gon the drill?" As she stepped past them to get the cash box, she gave them both a quick, heartfelt hug, grateful to them both for befriending each other.

Ialii beckoned to the Jedi to follow him to the back of the kiosk. "Okay, Qui-Gon, watch carefully. You take one stick at a time..."

Ruslan and Kusmin had gone off in search of a cold drink they'd promised Y'Chelle and Obi-Wan would be the best thing they'd ever tasted. The Jedi, who had been helping to set out tables and benches, placed the last bench and sat down on it, taking a well-deserved rest. Qui-Gon found them there, and offered something to each of them. "Try one. It's a cephalopod mollusk."

Obi-Wan looked at it with apparent misgiving. "It's a squid on a stick."

Qui-Gon looked faintly disappointed, and reminded him, "When in diplomatic service, Padawan, food preferences are unwise."

Y'Chelle, who had been about to protest along the same lines as the apprentice, changed her mind and offered instead, "Obi-Wan and I can share one." She took a stick from Qui-Gon and held it delicately with finger and thumb at a little distance from her.

The Master nodded approval, and bit off the head of his mollusk, chewing thoughtfully. "Hm. It could use a little salt..." And he turned and headed back to the kiosk.

"Show-off," Y'Chelle muttered under her breath, and then realized she'd spoken aloud when she saw Obi-Wan's wide-eyed look of scandalized delight. "Here," she said briskly, holding out the squid to him and hoping he wouldn't tell Qui-Gon on her. "Have a bite."

He hesitated. "I'll just try a tentacle or two," he said, breaking off a piece and popping it in his mouth. Y'Chelle gingerly nibbled at an edge.

Their eyes met. "It's not that bad," she admitted.

"And it _could_ use a little salt." Obi-Wan leaned close and took a larger bite.

"I wonder if Master Qui-Gon found the sauce that goes with this..."

* * *

When the crowds finally showed signs of slowing down, Obi-Wan took a pan out of Chydanio's hands and substituted a plate of food. She looked at it blankly, and then at him. He said, mock-sternly, "Break time. March!" He turned her by the shoulder and guided her out of the kiosk and down to the retaining wall at the water's edge. "Well, _that_ was easier than I thought it would be," he said, surprised that she hadn't put up more of a fight.

She sat down on the top of the wall. "We have a saying: Never argue with a being with a lightsaber." She set the plate of food down beside her, wrestled her boots off and turned around to face the bay, letting her bare feet dangle in the water with a contented sigh. Obi-Wan joined her, bare feet and all, and handed her a drink. "You made sure I ate two hours ago. I just wanted to return the favor."

Chydanio couldn't help a smile at his expression, it was so eagerly solicitous. "Thank you, Obi-Wan." They sat in companionable silence as she started to eat, enjoying the fresh breeze in their faces after the closeness of the kiosk and watching the sailboats skip along on the lively water of the bay as the pinnipeds barked in the distance. The young Jedi seemed to be more comfortable being himself today, as if he'd realized that there was a difference between appearing to be responsible and serious and actually being so, and that the one didn't necessarily equate with the other. Chydanio decided she liked this Obi-Wan very much.

She took a long sip of her drink, and then began rattling off a series of numbers from the tavern's latest financial report for him. He looked clearly puzzled, and she interrupted herself. "Oh! I thought you were here to find out if I was a suitable companion for your Master. I just wanted to show you that I'm at least financially stable." She let her gray eyes smile at him over her drink. "The rest is a little more subjective."

He shook his head. "I _do_ realize that," he said, giving in to her teasing. "Shall we start all over again, Chydanio? I'd like us to be friends."

"All right." She took another sip before she asked conversationally, "So — what do you think of your Master's idea of a holiday?"

"Oh, I'm enjoying myself very much! I've never done anything like this, and it's fascinating!" And she listened, amused, to the young man enumerate with great enthusiasm all the things he felt were unique and exciting about working a food booth during the Spring Moon in the capital city of Tivelis.

Y'Chelle, meanwhile, noticed Ialii looking around distractedly for Chydanio. "May I help?" the Jedi asked.

"Chydanio and Ruslan were supposed to go pick up the second shift for the kiosk, and now I can't find either of them."

"I can take the speeder back to the tavern," she offered.

"But what about Ryje?" he asked, twisting his tail with obvious distress.

"Ryje?"

"My mate — she's only a month from birthing and has trouble getting in and out of a speeder, she usually perches on the back with someone to support her and you can't trust Kusmin with anything so Ruslan was going to — "

"I can accompany Y'Chelle and help your wife," Qui-Gon offered, having overheard the conversation as he'd walked towards them.

"Thank you, both of you," Ialii said, grateful. "Go by the tavern first, that'll balance the speeder before you pick up Ryje. From the tavern go south..."

Y'Chelle whipped the speeder down streets and around corners and made such good time the second shift hadn't finished getting their supplies together yet. The two Jedi climbed out of the speeder and stood side-by-side on the sidewalk outside the tavern to wait. Y'Chelle combed her fingers through her tangled, wind-blown hair and looked up enviously at Qui-Gon, whose hair was still neat and tidy. "Someday I'll learn to put my hair up." As his eyes met hers she said in a sudden rush of honesty, "Thank you for accompanying me, Master Qui-Gon. I'm glad I've finally earned your approval. It means a lot."

From observing her so closely that day he knew he'd withheld his approval for too long, and he owed her an explanation. The Master reached over and untangled a lock of her hair, and then turned her head away a little and took her hair in his hands, deftly braiding it. "You know, Y'Chelle, way back when you were just an initiate, I thought Mace was wrong in taking you as his Padawan learner," Qui-Gon told her.

"No," she said, curious. "I didn't."

"I thought you weren't serious or dedicated enough, that you would be a discipline problem. And do you know what he told me?"

She shook her head. "No."

"He reminded me that not everyone could live up to my standards of perfection — even me. And he told me to mind my own business." He searched his utility belt for a hair tie. "And he was right. Mace has the same ability Yoda does, to allow a Padawan all individuality and not mold him or her in his image — to encourage uniqueness while still training an apprentice in the ways of the Force. It's not an easy thing to do."

Qui-Gon tied off the braid. Y'Chelle turned back to face him, and saw that his gaze was warm on her. "Clearly, though, Mace valued you for your singular qualities, and helped you to develop at your own pace and into your own understanding of the Force. Perhaps I haven't always been able to appreciate that, and I apologize. But when I see you with Obi-Wan, I understand a little better what Mace saw in you." His gaze turned thoughtful, and he took her slender hand in his to underscore his words. "You bring out qualities in my Padawan that perhaps I've stifled with my own views of perfection. You remind me of my duty to him. And, you've always made Mace very proud."

The Jedi Master's words were so unexpected, so kind, so frank, she couldn't think of anything else to say but a heartfelt, "Thank you, Master."

* * *

Obi-Wan and Chydanio both turned away from the water, letting their feet dry on the grass before they put their boots back on. He asked her, curious, "So why 'The Sword and Stars'?"

"Well, 'Sword' is a little joke," she explained. "I like to sketch now and then, and my 'sword' is any drawing implement. And 'Stars,' because I've always wanted to travel."

"So if you weren't a tavern owner, what would you be?"

She considered. "Well, when I was little I wanted to be a moon shuttle conductor."

He chuckled. "I did, too. How about now?"

"Now? I'm working on my pilot's license, so I might still be that shuttle conductor. But if talent were no object...a concert singer."

"Why a singer?"

"Because if you ever heard me sing, you'd know I couldn't carry a tune even if it had anti-gravs." As he laughed again, she said, "Okay, your turn. If you weren't a Jedi, what would you be?"

"I'm not a Jedi, yet. I still have to face the trials. But what do you think about me being an attorney?"

She had to laugh at his sly grin. "No, dream _big_! Republican senator, circus acrobat, pirate chieftain — "

"Pirate chieftain!" He actually seemed to savor the thought, before he admitted, "My Master would kill me."

"I suppose he would; he's so honorable and virtuous. Well, how about a star pilot? Or a military general? Or would something like a sculptor be an appropriate career for you?"

He turned thoughtful. "No, not a sculptor. A poet, perhaps." She raised her eyebrows in question. "Well, I've been giving it a lot of thought lately, trying to understand it all, and it seems to me the Force is almost a kind of poetry."

"Define poetry," she said, intrigued.

He said slowly, "Poetry is...revelation, and glory, and mystery suddenly unveiled. Poetry isn't inherited, it isn't given — it's what no one knows. And poets show us, remind us, what poetry is, that the grand and the beautiful and the good exist, that life isn't just circumstance — that it has wonder, and meaning."

And it was almost as if Chydanio were seeing a wholly different young man before her. She gently stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. "Know what, Obi-Wan? You already are a poet."

He blushed deeply and looked back across the water, pleased and suddenly shy. And his attention was caught by two sailboats racing against each other. "That looks like so much fun!"

She smiled at the sheer boyish delight in his face. "Have you ever sailed?"

"No, never."

"Would you like to?" He turned to her, and the answer was plain. "I've got a little boat — nothing fancy, but I could certainly teach you the fundamentals."

"You mean I could learn to sail?" he asked, almost disbelieving his good fortune.

"I get the feeling you can learn anything you set your mind to, Obi-Wan." She regarded the young man fondly. "I'd be very happy to teach you."

"And may Y'Chelle and Master Qui-Gon come, too?"

Even in the midst of his excitement, he didn't forget his friends. "Of course. There's plenty of room for four. After you learned how to handle the boat, we could take it across the bay, there's a wonderful beach for swimming, or we could go into the delta, there are a couple of good places for hiking down there, or we could see if anyone wants to race — " With each mention of possibilities, his eyes shone brighter and brighter. She found herself going on, caught up in his enthusiasm, "We could pack a picnic lunch — we could spend the whole day out tomorrow if you wanted to."

"It sounds wonderful!"

"Better than working in a tavern?"

Obi-Wan grinned, and Chydanio couldn't help answering with one of her own. There was something so endearing about this young man, something that made her want to put her arms around him and cradle him close...

"So this is where you'd gotten to — we've been looking all over for you!" Qui-Gon said, joining them on the wall.

"Obi-Wan was telling me how much he's enjoying working today," Chydanio said as she and the apprentice put on their boots. "I think if he weren't a Jedi, he'd be working for me."

The younger man's blue eyes were mischievous. "Maybe. Do you need an apprentice, Chydanio?"

"I've got all the kits I can handle; I don't need another!"

"I'm not a kit!" he said, indignant.

"Of course you're not," she said quickly, frowning as she stared at him. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking about."

"He may be young, but in many ways he's wise beyond his years," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan straightened proudly at the praise.

"I know," Chydanio agreed, with a lingering glance at the young man. Then she turned her attention back to Qui-Gon. "So why were you looking for us? Anything wrong?"

"No. But Ryje is here and she wanted to meet Obi-Wan, and I think Ialii had a few questions for you."

They walked back together, Master and Padawan carrying the conversation, and Obi-Wan went on ahead as soon as Qui-Gon caught sight of Ryje and pointed her out to him.

Qui-Gon looked at Chydanio. "You're very quiet."

She shook her head. "I was just thinking about how I called Obi-Wan a 'kit' back there. He's not, you know."

"It's probably just habit, being with Ruslan and Kusmin all the time. He won't take it to heart."

"No, it's not that." She was silent for a little while longer, and then, looking down, she said slowly, "You know...if I'd had a son, he'd be about Obi-Wan's age." She glanced up, saw the apprentice talking animatedly with Ryje, and looked down again. "He's a fine young man, Qui-Gon. I hope you're very proud of him."

"I am. Then again, he's had an exceptional upbringing, with the most extraordinary of teachers." Their eyes met, and she conceded him a smile. He went on more seriously, "As have Ialii's kits. And I know you're proud of them." His hand went to her shoulder. She leaned towards him, accepting his comfort, and he put his arm around her.

"What if I bought his apprenticeship from you?" she asked idly.

"You can't have him."

"I'd give you a fair price."

"You still can't have him..."

END PART IV


	5. Blessing

The Sword and Stars  
Part V — The Blessing

SUMMARY: The Jedi attend the Blessing of the Spring Moon, and spend one more night on Tivelis.

Padawan and Master walked together at a leisurely pace away from Aquatic Park, following the water's edge and taking the opportunity before Ruslan and Kusmin's choral recitation to talk together by themselves for the first time that day.

When Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan's thoughts clearing, his emotions calming, he asked, "How do you feel, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan seriously considered the question, knowing it wasn't casually asked. "I feel…alive, Master, in a way I haven't ever felt before. I feel aware of so many things, things I used to consider unimportant, in a different way. The smallest detail — bursts with meaning, and connects to so many other things." He looked out over the water, each ripple shining gold in the afternoon sun. "I…feel surrounded by great, overwhelming beauty."

Qui-Gon sensed the apprentice's new and profound understanding of the connection between sea and sky and shore. Obi-Wan's relationship to the Force was changing, yes, but there were almost certainly other factors at work as well, that had to do with a certain Jedi Knight who had entered his life…. Qui-Gon said quietly, "I _have_ noticed a change in you, Obi-Wan."

The younger man said slowly, "I feel I've changed."

The Master folded his arms across his broad chest. "Let's consider this, then. Either it's an incredible coincidence that this change is happening during your acquaintance with Y'Chelle Anacris, or…she's had quite an effect on you."

He turned and looked meaningfully at his apprentice. Obi-Wan returned the look with a goodnatured grin, and the Jedi Master clasped his shoulder briefly, saying, "And you're also learning that true peace doesn't come with suppression of your emotions, but with acknowledgement and acceptance of them. Coincidence?"

"No. Definitely Y'Chelle." He looked up at Qui-Gon, eager to explore what he'd been thinking. "She's strong in the Force, but in a way unlike any I've known before. Your sense of the Force is a straight line, Master, and you follow it unerringly. Her sense of the Force…is more of a pattern than a line, and it lets her dwell in a single moment completely. She's constantly delighted by life. She takes such great pleasure in the littlest of things."

"Do you hear in your description of her a description of the change in you, tempered by your own unique experience? That is part of it. What else has changed, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan thought about his conversation — and lack of it — with Y'Chelle even that morning when they were eating breakfast. "It's as if Y'Chelle and I don't even need to communicate sometimes, like we know each other's thoughts and preferences, only a look or a touch saying what we want to say. Even with you, Master, my communication isn't that effortless."

"What do you think this signifies?"

"I think it indicates that…I really am learning to understand how someone else senses the Force, so completely that it's as if…we're of one mind."

"This is not common, Obi-Wan, especially after such a short acquaintance. It takes complete trust in each other and complete confidence in each other's abilities, and anyone you are able to achieve this with should be kept in mind if a sensitive assignment from the Jedi Council required you to work closely with someone else. I think you and Y'Chelle would make a good team." He glanced down at Obi-Wan. "I've noticed that even though you are still an apprentice, Y'Chelle seems to treat you as if you are already a knight."

"No, she's taught me…a thing or two." He colored a little. "But if I may make the observation, Master — with no judgment, it's simply a statement of fact — she does treat me as more of an equal than you do."

"That time will come for us, Padawan, never fear," the older man assured him. He went on, "There are many differences between Y'Chelle and myself and, indeed, between me and you. I have been your primary example for many years, but there are many, many ways to be a part of the Force. Y'Chelle is a most unusual Jedi, and her powers encompass different aspects of the Force than do mine. I am glad that your time with her has been a…learning experience."

Obi-Wan shot a sidelong glance at the Master, but he was looking out across the bay, the breeze blowing his hair back from his shoulders and bringing the sound of pinnipeds to them. Qui-Gon's mouth quirked, as if in remembrance of something, and then he said, no longer teasing, "You are now of an age where your Force sense is developing at an accelerated rate, where you will individuate most strongly. Y'Chelle reminded me today that I'm not training you to become me, and I want that to be clear. We will disagree on many things, Padawan. Do not be afraid of this. You must learn to listen to the Force, to what it is telling _you,_ to trust your own judgment against mine. You will only become a Jedi Knight when you are able to contribute to the Jedi what's unique and particular only to you — only when you fully become the Knight you are meant to be."

They were both quiet as they turned to go back to the park, and after a while Qui-Gon said, "I sense hesitation in you, Padawan. What is it?"

"It seems presumptuous to say that I've noticed some changes in you, Master," he began cautiously. "It's probably more accurate to say that, rather than you changing, it's been me, that I haven't really understood you before."

"Whether one or the other is more accurate, what is it that concerns you?"

"You've always had an air of serenity and calm about you, but now you are even more calm and serene, as if what you were before was just a pose, only surface deep. You are profoundly at peace now, Master, and I've never had that sense about you before."

Qui-Gon frowned, thoughtful. "Interesting." He nodded for Obi-Wan to continue.

"Before I came here…so much of my time was spent just keeping up with you, Master, absorbing all the lessons you set for me both formally and simply by your example. And I'm realizing that perhaps there are things that are missing in our lives because of who we are, that we're both finding here. Like family."

There was a smile in Qui-Gon's voice as he said, "A father and his two children, his second wife, and his best friend. A most unusual family."

"But they were strangers to us yesterday, and today they've accepted us, made us a part of them, when you've been the closest thing to family I've known for years and everybody wherever we go always holds us at arm's distance because we're Jedi. I feel like…I belong. I feel more at home here than I ever have at the Jedi Temple. And if you do, too, then that explains why I'm sensing you at such peace here. It's these people." And then he added, "It's Chydanio."

"Are you recalling a conversation we had yesterday?"

"Yes, Master."

"I take it your opinion of her has become more informed than that she's merely not ill-favored?"

Obi-Wan said earnestly, "She's wonderful! If you and she were to — "

"You would give us your approval?"

Realizing how he sounded, Obi-Wan stopped himself. "It's none of my business."

"You are correct." And then he smiled. "She _is_ wonderful."

They came in view of the park again. They saw Ryje settled comfortably in the shade, on a bench under a tree heavy with blossoms. Next to the bench, sitting on a blanket, Y'Chelle was laughing at something Ialii had said while Chydanio sketched quickly into a small book in the palm of her hand.

Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's eagerness to join them and gave him a nudge. "Go ahead, Padawan." He suggested, "Tell Y'Chelle her hair looks nice that way."

Obi-Wan walked forward quickly and dropped onto the blanket where Y'Chelle made room for him beside her. "How'd it go?" she asked him with a teasing grin. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"No, not at all. We had rather a good talk, actually." He picked up several of the pink and purple blossoms that had fallen onto the ground and fashioned them into a kind of flower that he tucked into her dark hair.

"I like that," Chydanio said, turning a page in her sketchbook and beginning another drawing. "I wish I'd brought some color." Obi-Wan started to stretch forward to look at the drawing but Chydanio motioned with her pencil. "Stay there. Let me get you two together."

Qui-Gon came up behind Ryje and rested his hands on her silver-furred shoulders. Despite her advanced pregnancy she was breathing easily and appeared perfectly at ease. "How are you?" he asked her.

She turned her head and brushed one of his hands with her whiskers. "Never better."

Ialii looked up at Qui-Gon, his tail beginning to lash back and forth. "So tell me, Ryje," he asked in a jovial voice, still looking at Qui-Gon, "what do you think of Chydanio's Jedi Man?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chydanio reaching for his tail and he quickly moved it out of her reach.

"Well, my dear," Ryje said, resting her paws on her bulging belly, "you know that I've had such trouble lately, the kits have been so active inside me. But when Qui-Gon sat next to me on the speeder and put his arm around me, they quieted down! It was the most amazing thing. And they've stayed quiet, I haven't felt this relaxed in days."

"I used the Force to calm the kits when I sensed Ryje's discomfort," Qui-Gon explained to Ialii. "They suffer no harm, and she gets a little much-deserved rest."

"That's all well and good, but you didn't answer my question, Ryje. What do you _think_ of him? As an acquaintance for Chydanio, I mean?"

"Somebody who can reach it, pull his tail," Chydanio muttered, finishing up her sketch.

"I find him gentle and considerate, admirable traits in anyone," Ryje said in a voice that indicated the subject was now closed.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon said, sitting down.

"So. Nice, but boring," Ialii interpreted. Obi-Wan and Y'Chelle glanced away from each other, afraid that one look would make them laugh out loud, and the Jedi Master promptly pulled Ialii's tail. "Ow!"

Qui-Gon ignored him, feigning interest in the food spread out on the blanket. "What's all this?" Chydanio shook her head at him, stifling a laugh.

Y'Chelle swallowed hard and managed to say in only a slightly choked voice, "Please, help yourself." She went on in a more normal voice, "I bought one of every kind of sweet treat the kiosk next to ours was selling."

Qui-Gon picked one out and asked "Why?" before he took a bite.

"I was smelling them all day," she sighed. "Everybody's got a weakness, and mine is sweet things — I just can't resist them."

"Is that why you're so partial to Obi-Wan?" Ialii asked, his tail lashing again.

Both Y'Chelle and Obi-Wan colored instantly at the question. Ryje batted her husband in the head with her tail. "Behave, my dear," she warned him, and then she said as if in apology, "Tell them, Chydanio. Ialii wouldn't tease so much if he didn't actually like them."

"He loves _me_ to death," Chydanio said dryly. And then, after a pause, "But Obi-Wan _is_ a sweet young man, don't you think, Y'Chelle?"

Obi-Wan started searching around the blanket near Chydanio. Y'Chelle, wanting a distraction, asked, "What are you looking for?"

"Chydanio's tail — so I can pull it!"

The tavern owner stared at him, and then burst into laughter. Y'Chelle gave in and joined her, and so did Obi-Wan and Ialii. Qui-Gon, grinning, reached out and took Ryje's paw in his hand, sensing she wanted to laugh but that it hurt her to. She squeezed his hand gratefully as he eased her and she could give in to a fit of the giggles.

The announcement from the stage that the choral recitation was about to start sobered them up quickly. Ialii smoothed his spotted fur as if he were the one about to recite, not his kits. Chydanio turned to a fresh page in her notebook, ready to capture the moment. Ryje, seeing the Jedi puzzling over their nervous behavior, explained, "It's an important year when you're first allowed to be part of the choral recitation. This is the first time Ruslan and Kusmin were selected to participate."

"If only Kusmin remembers her part…" Chydanio sighed.

Ialii shook his head. "She can't remember a thing."

The youngsters came out on stage, and they easily located Kusmin, whose orange fur stood out even when she was flanked on one side by a being with bright plumage and on the other by one with glittering scales. Ruslan was a little harder to find, but Ryje finally found her and pointed her out. When the audience quieted down, the youngsters began to chant in unison.

"I don't understand what they're saying — what language is that?" Obi-Wan asked softly of Chydanio.

"The original, or I guess you'd call it the archaic form," she answered in the same tone, pausing in her sketching of the kits on stage. "By telling the story behind the Blessing of the Spring Moon this way, it's remains unchanged all this time."

Qui-Gon leaned close and suggested, "Focus on the felt sense behind the words, Padawan. You'll pick up mostly excitement and nervousness, but there will be a bit of meaning and content as well." Obi-Wan nodded.

With most of the youngsters still chanting in unison, a group containing Ruslan separated itself and began echoing the main group. After a while, another group, weaving its voices in and among those already being heard, started punctuating single words, underscoring important details. Fascinated, the Jedi noticed that the storytelling, with its rhythms and intricate timing, had become a kind of song.

Kusmin's group paused, getting ready to join in elaborating the tapestry of sound. Obi-Wan leaned forward a little in anticipation, but suddenly put a hand to his temple, frowning. Voices were speaking in his head so loudly he could feel it physically. And then he noticed the tense look on Chydanio's face, the straining ears and wide eyes of Ryje and Ialii, and realized that he was hearing their thoughts — they were hoping against hope that Kusmin wouldn't forget her part and trying to help her by thinking the words to her as hard as they could.

He glanced at Qui-Gon and saw him trying not to smile. And Y'Chelle was clearly amused by the whole thing. But Obi-Wan, who'd been concentrating so hard that he picked up not only the anxious thoughts but the emotions behind them as clearly and strongly as if they'd been his own, was thoroughly caught up in the sense of urgency, the tension. He looked back at the stage and focused the thoughts he was sensing towards the orange kit, not wanting her to fail.

And Kusmin stepped forward with her group and didn't miss a word, joining in a call-and-response loudly and with confidence, and with a simultaneous sigh the now-proud parents, Chydanio, and Obi-Wan all relaxed. Y'Chelle put her arm around the apprentice and hugged him, smothering a giggle against his shoulder. "All better?" she teased softly.

"Much." He took a deep breath, and leaned against her to enjoy the rest of the recitation.

The performance ended with loud, sustained applause from the crowd as the youngsters clattered off the stage and ran back to their various family groups.

Kusmin was practically jumping up and down. "Did you hear me? I knew _everything_!" she cried. Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan significantly, a small smile curving the corner of his mouth.

In contrast, Ruslan flopped dramatically onto the blanket. "Feel my pulse!" she insisted, holding out her tail tip. "I thought I was going to die!"

Y'Chelle, curious, took the spotted tail in her hands, and looked at Obi-Wan, surprised. "Her pulse is racing!"

"But, Ruslan, you were wonderful!" Obi-Wan told her.

Ruslan sat up. "Was I?" she demanded eagerly.

"You were both wonderful," Ryje said warmly, releasing Kusmin and beckoning Ruslan over for a hug.

Ialii brushed his daughter's whiskers with his. "I couldn't be prouder of either of you."

"Who's that setting up now?" Y'Chelle asked, noticing a young human female directing various musicians on the stage.

Chydanio answered her. "That's Jorion Velancid, the master drummer's heir apparent — his apprentice," she clarified, looking over at Obi-Wan with a wink.

"You know, this might be the year she does it," Ryje mused aloud.

"Does what?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Becomes the master drummer. Jorion can succeed Ente Hartunji, the master drummer, only when she's proved that she can best him somehow, do something that he hasn't thought of or can't do himself."

"I'm glad I didn't have to best my master to become a knight," Y'Chelle said. "He beat me at everything, even card games."

"Perhaps 'best' isn't the correct word," Ryje amended. "I mean that the apprentice has to innovate somehow, bring new ideas and new blood to the drumming, so that the position of master drummer continues to grow and change and adapt to the people."

As Jorion and the other musicians started to play, the Jedi realized that they could hear no melody, only a compelling beat. Obi-Wan and Y'Chelle took each other's hand at the same moment, eager to join one of the dance circles forming in front of the stage. Ruslan and Kusmin ran down to the stage with them, explaining the steps as fast they could. Some of the crowd began to sing a song in time with the beat.

Qui-Gon had long ago learned that standards regarding art were relative, and when he heard Chydanio join in the singing he didn't wince; only a slight widening of his eyes indicated that he heard every wrong note she loudly sang. Perhaps, he told himself, it was this planet's version of harmony.

But Ialii leaned over, picked up Qui-Gon's hand and slapped it over Chydanio's mouth, admonishing the Jedi Master, "Keep it there!"

Qui-Gon looked at Chydanio. Her gray eyes were wide with innocence over his silencing hand. "I take it your singing isn't exactly appreciated here," he said.

"When the kits were younger we used to threaten them with it — 'If you don't behave, Chydanio will sing to you!'" Ialii told him.

Ryje poked Ialii with her tail. "My dear — !" she warned.

"We did!" he said, defensive. "And it worked, too."

"Did it?" Qui-Gon asked, amusement shining in his blue eyes. Chydanio nodded. "Well, well. Perhaps this is a technique I should pass on to the instructors at the Jedi Temple." Her eyes narrowed at him and he moved his hand, caressing her lips before he released her. "Or maybe not."

Down by the stage, the dance circle with the Jedi and the kits had quite a number of ornithicids, and as the music increased in tempo and the dancing became more vigorous the circle began to rise in the air, the beating of so many wings overcoming gravity. With shouts of delight and laughter the non-winged dancers held on tight as the ornithicids, aided by the Jedi, turned the circle first this way, then that, approximating the dance in the air as it would have been on the ground.

"Oh — !" Chydanio breathed, fumbling for her pencil.

"They're flying!" Ryje cried. "Look at them!"

Ialii charged to his feet, panicked. "They're going to fall!"

Qui-Gon caught his arm, pulled him back down. "They're fine," he assured him. "They're having the time of their lives."

As the dancers slowly drifted back down to the ground, Chydanio sighed happily. "There's nothing wrong with a little magic on a Blessing day, Ialii."

When the sun went down Ente Hartunji, the master drummer, came out to join his apprentice and the other performers on the stage. Everyone applauded to acknowledge him, and the music continued to play.

As the moon began to rise, the dancing ended and the music quieted and gradually stopped altogether. There was a moment of beautiful stillness, when the breeze could be heard rustling the blossoms. Ente raised his hand, gave the downbeat and everyone started to sing the Blessing. Obi-Wan, standing behind Y'Chelle, held her tight in his arms as they both shivered with delight at the sound of so many people joined in solemn celebration.

Qui-Gon noticed that Chydanio didn't even hum along, not wanting to do anything to ruin the moment. He took her hand and squeezed it, knowing how much she wished she could sing. She flashed a smile at him and pulled his arm around her waist.

When the song ended, it was repeated over again, this time with the master drummer the lone accompaniment, giving the song a different rhythm and a more joyous feel. Qui-Gon, able to pick up the words from Chydanio's thoughts, joined in with the rest of the singers. Ryje nodded approvingly, her tail flicking out to stroke the Jedi Master's hair.

After that the song was repeated a third time with all the musicians joining in, the rhythm fast enough to dance to. Ialii looked at Ryje. "Remember? We first met dancing to this," he said, his tail tightening around her waist in a fond hug.

She nodded. And then suddenly she was rising, moving lightly, gracefully, as she must have that first night, holding her arms out to him. He arose, brushed his whiskers against hers, and they linked arms and began to dance.

Chydanio leaned close and said in Qui-Gon's ear, "It's you, isn't it?" He said nothing, just watched the two dancers, deeply content. "You're wonderful, Qui-Gon. Have I told you that recently?"

"It's not something I get tired of hearing."

She kissed him on the ear. He turned his head and brushed his moustache back and forth against her cheek, making her giggle. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm 'whiskering' you."

"From you, I'd prefer a kiss." Happy to oblige, he tilted her face to his and pressed a lingering kiss to her smiling mouth.

"Yes, that's much better," he said.

She stroked his cheek tenderly. "I'm so glad you're here, Qui-Gon."

Had she called it 'magic'? On a night like this, seeing the light in Chydanio's eyes as she looked at him, he could definitely believe in magic. "So am I."

The dancing music continued until the moon was fully above the horizon, and then the master and apprentice prepared to match wits. They surrounded themselves with the percussion instruments of their choice — the master a few, the apprentice quite a few — and while the rest of the musicians kept up a steady backbeat, the master played a riff and the apprentice matched and embellished it. Back and forth they went, the riffs becoming more complex, the master calm, the apprentice enjoying the challenge, and the contest gradually escalated to the point where no one could see how Jorion would best Ente.

The apprentice held her hand up, signaling for a little time, and rearranged her instruments, then nodded her readiness. The master drummer, looking sly, rolled out a long, complicated riff with minor variations on each movement that weren't quite repeats.

Jorion listened carefully, and each time she thought Ente was done and started to answer, he blithely continued, until both Jorion and the audience were laughing — the master didn't want to lose. But then, when it was finally her turn, she surprised them all by delivering a rhythm-perfect match to the master's impromptu composition on all the instruments around her, playing them not just with mallets and sticks and her hands but with her whole body, turning and crouching and jumping quickly so her feet and elbows and arms and knees could strike out in perfect time. And when she was done matching the master drummer's challenge, her momentum propelled her into a spontaneous dance with her own body as an instrument, creating an intricate rhythm with only taps and snaps and slaps and claps.

Ente led the cheers and applause — there was no way he could match that, much less best it, and they all knew it. Jorion looked around, startled, as if not realizing what she'd done. The master drummer bowed low to her, then backed away from the front of the stage, hands held out as if to say to the crowd, "Here she is, your new master drummer."

As if sensing Qui-Gon's gaze on him, Obi-Wan turned and looked back, and through a break in the crowd he saw the Jedi Master regarding him thoughtfully. Obi-Wan turned back to the stage and thought about his apprenticeship, about what he'd been learning, and wondered how, like Jorion just had, he would ever bring all the lessons together in such a way that they would be uniquely his own.

* * *

"This is your ship?" Obi-Wan asked as he and Y'Chelle entered her docking bay after the concert, taken aback by the apparent age and disrepair of the _Midnight Wanderer_. She nodded. "No crew?"

"Couldn't bring one."

"What kind of mission did the Jedi Council send you on?"

"To a non-aligned world. This time it was just for information gathering — economic and political stability, where the balance of power lies and when and how it's likely to shift, that sort of thing. So I needed a ship that wouldn't call attention to itself that I could pilot alone."

"To a world that chooses to remain outside of all Republic influence? No back-up, no law to support you, no place to turn for help if a mission fails?" he asked, incredulous.

She shrugged. "From the time I was an apprentice, I was working with the non-aligned worlds in one way or another. I guess the Council figures I'm pretty good at it."

"But that's incredibly dangerous," he blurted out, torn between concern for her safety and fascination with the idea of doing that sort of work.

She gave him a saucy smile over her shoulder as she led the way aboard. "I kind of enjoy the danger."

He followed, matching her smile with one of his own. "I'll bet you do."

Inside, she gave him a quick tour of the _Wanderer_, and he was surprised when she didn't stop in the galley for something sweet. He caught her hand and turned her to face him. "What, no dessert?" he teased.

In answer, she took firm hold of his hooded cloak and pulled his face down to hers. He melted against her quite happily as first his upper and then lower lip were suckled on and nibbled at. "You're sweet enough," she said, her low voice almost a purr, and kissed him again.

The sleeping room's narrow lower bunk wasn't configured for two people, but they only hit their heads once or twice. Maybe three times — it was hard to keep count when every sensation was equally shared.

They lay after their loving in each other's arms, tired but happy, Y'Chelle tickling Obi-Wan's chin with the end of his braid. He swatted her hand away absently as he began to drowse, his mind clear and untroubled, his thoughts drifting freely, drifting….

"…Obi-Wan?"

He blinked hard, looked down at Y'Chelle in his arms. She was holding him tight, her expression concerned. "Yes?" he asked.

"What happened? You…left me for a moment."

He frowned. "I just had the oddest — thoughts, they were almost like a dream…"

She reached up, stroking his hair comfortingly. "Tell me."

"It felt like a disturbance in the Force, only not quite — more as if there was an order to things that was in great disarray. I saw…water, all around me, and sand, too, but they seemed to be two different places, and I sensed such great danger, and — Master Qui-Gon was there, and I saw the face of a little boy I don't even know…"

Y'Chelle's gaze unfocused, casting outward. "I don't sense anything," she said.

"I don't, either, but the feeling was so strong…"

She said thoughtfully, "When you get back to Coruscant, you might want to talk to Master Yoda. If the disturbance in the Force was in the here and now, we'd both sense it."

"You mean, I'm sensing something — on another planet? In another part of the galaxy?"

"You saw Master Qui-Gon, and he's here with us. I think what you're sensing might not just be elsewhere, but also elsewhen." At his stunned expression, she went on, "If it was only in the immediate future I'd be able to sense it, too. A power such as this is something Master Yoda would be able to determine and help you develop."

"But I've never been able to do anything like this before — I've never shown an aptitude — "

"We grow into our understanding and command of the Force through training and exposure to different situations. You're still developing, discovering. You're still shaping the knight you'll become."

"It was so vague…"

"Master Yoda can help you learn to focus, to interpret, to see." She shrugged with a small, impish smile. "Who knows, it might be because you've been experiencing the Force differently through me that you've discovered this ability to see another place and time."

He said slowly, "And it might not have happened if we hadn't…" He saw by the gleam in her dark eyes that she was thinking the same thing. "I think I should…work on my Force sense some more, don't you?" he asked, moving to cover her body with his.

"By all means. It's my duty to assist you in your training in any way I can," she agreed, wriggling delightfully against him. "But — " She shoved him out of the bunk and followed him. " — I'm not hitting my head anymore!"

She tossed the sleeping pad and covers on the floor. Obi-Wan pulled the pad and covers off the top bunk and threw them down as well and they quickly fashioned a makeshift bed with them.

"Be gentle," he pleaded, laughter sparkling in his blue eyes.

She pushed him onto his back and pinned his shoulders to the floor. "Not a chance, Padawan!"

* * *

"I could definitely get used to this," Qui-Gon sighed, holding the glass with the last of the dark-blue cordial up to Chydanio. She shook her head. He drained the glass and set it on the ledge next to the bathing tub, then sank deeper into the steaming, fragrant water, resting his head against the front of Chydanio's shoulder and stretching his legs out before him comfortably. "You don't know how tired I am of too-small showers."

She wrapped her arms around him with a small laugh, tucking his head beneath her chin. "Not many bathing tubs on starships?"

He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the feel of warm water lapping gently around his body as she stroked his chest. "That would be an inefficient use of resources."

"Mm. I suppose so."

He tilted his head back, kissed her beneath her chin, and looked up at the high windows running the width of three sides of the bathing room. There was no light in the bathing room save for the moons and stars. "You know, space is cold, unimaginably so. But looking at space like this, it's rather comforting."

"In a bathing tub?"

"In your arms."

She kissed his forehead. "You say the sweetest things, Jedi Man."

"I do, don't I?" he reflected ingenuously, turning his face up for a kiss. She obliged him, and he reached up and curled an arm around her neck, deepening the kiss.

Long moments later he felt her shiver slightly and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I hate to move, but maybe we should go to your sleeping room."

They climbed out of the tub on slightly shaky legs and she unfolded a large, thick towel and draped it around his shoulders. He took the ends in his hands and wrapped the towel around her as well, pulling her into his embrace. She grinned at him, reaching up to trace the bearded line of his jaw, first one side, then the other, basking in the glow of his rare smile.

Emotion suddenly welled up in her, with a certainty she couldn't deny, and she said softly, "I could love you for the rest of my life, Qui-Gon."

The words hung between them for only a second. Before she could berate herself for revealing her feelings, for not accepting these last two nights for what they were and no more, the towel had fallen to the floor and he'd taken her face in his hands and was kissing her with a sweetness that took her breath away.

Then he rested his forehead against hers, and his voice was achingly low. "I could love you for the rest of my life, Chydanio."

She covered his hands with hers. They both knew better. But there was no turning back now.

He slowly, deliberately lowered his mental barriers and let her in as fully and freely as she'd let him in the night before. _This is who I am,_ he thought to her. _This is all that I am, Chydanio._

"Qui-Gon…" A few tears escaped her at the sudden, overwhelming intimacy and she felt his thumbs brush her tears away.

Gradually she became aware of a sequence in the images and emotions flooding her mind, and recognized Qui-Gon as a boy and then a young man, in the company of a diminutive being he called Master Yoda. She saw him learning principles and rules that, as he grew in his understanding of the Force, didn't quite ring true for him and, even as he passed his trials and became a Jedi Knight, he defied his Master and the Jedi Council to follow the path the Force showed him. She saw the things he'd done that many considered reckless, even ruthless, to accomplish the Force's will. And beneath the certainty that made his defiance and ruthlessness necessary, he'd been so alone….

_Can you love who I am? Can you love me?_

She felt his questions more than heard them, and knew what he was asking — did she need to be everything to him? Did she need promises, certainties, stability, permanence…or would trust and faith be enough? Could she accept the life he lived and not want to change him?

She knew from Qui-Gon's memories that the love he'd lost so long ago hadn't been able to answer yes. But Chydanio had had her promises already, her love that was to last forever — and it hadn't been enough to keep Jancer safe, or to allow her to follow him where he'd gone.

Her gray eyes never wavered from his gaze. "Last night," she said softly, "I told you that my heart doesn't ask permission when it gives itself away." She tightened her grip on his hands. "You have my heart, Qui-Gon. And if I hadn't given it to you before, I'd give it now, knowing everything I know. Loving everything about you."

They kissed, and each kiss lengthened, deepened, became more heated and wet and seeking. Qui-Gon bent and slipped an arm beneath Chydanio's knees, lifting her in his arms.

She put her arms around his neck, managing a breathless laugh. "Even Jancer couldn't pick me up and carry me," she said as he walked to her sleeping room.

"Believe me, if I didn't wield the living Force I couldn't, either," he told her, and the low sound of their laughter trailed after them until they lay beside each other and, with the long night before them, loved each other with all their hearts.

* * *

"Master Jinn," the commlink signaled.

The Jedi was instantly awake, recognizing the slightly bubbled voice of his Mon Calamari captain, and reached for his commlink on the small table next to the bed. "Yes, Captain?" he asked.

"The ion storm flight restrictions have been lifted and our flight plan has been approved, sir. The ship can be ready within the half hour."

"I will see you then, Captain." He switched frequencies. "Obi-Wan."

There was a measurable pause, and then a thick, sleepy voice asked, "Yes, Master?"

"We've been given clearance to leave, Padawan. Meet me at our ship in half an hour."

The response came in a somewhat more awake voice. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon replaced the commlink on the table and turned to Chydanio, who threw an arm around him in a drowsy embrace and snuggled close. "Mm," she murmured, trying to wake up. "Half hour?"

"Half hour." The early morning light, a pearly gray tinged faintly with rose as the sun started to rise above the fog, made Chydanio's smooth skin seem to glow, and Qui-Gon trailed his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, along the side of her neck, stroking her there before he gently traced the deep laugh lines at the corners of her mouth, the broken line of her nose, and finally rested his fingers against the generous curve of her mouth.

She kissed his fingertips. He cradled her cheek in his hand as she slowly opened her eyes and regarded him wistfully. "Funny, isn't it," she said. "You'd think half an hour would seem like an eternity to me now, but it doesn't anymore."

He bent his head to hers and kissed her. He felt her unhesitating response and almost drew on her Force sense in answer, but stopped himself; she knew he couldn't stay, and he knew she wasn't free to leave — stretching time wasn't what either of them wanted, or needed.

"No, it doesn't seem like time enough," he said, looking deep into her gray eyes. "But now is all we ever have."

"I'll take it." She brushed his hair back with her hand, tracing the strong planes of his face as if wanting to memorize them by touch, and said slowly, "You know, I used to think I'd never feel this way about anyone even once in my life; it was just too much to ask. And then I meet you, and — to be blessed enough to feel this way twice in my life, Qui-Gon…it seems more than I deserve."

"You deserve every happiness." His voice was quiet with sudden tenderness as he sensed that the lack of expectancy that had characterized her had turned into absolute trust, that she trusted in the Force as much as he did. No matter the reason they had been brought together, and now had to say goodbye, neither of them regretted what had happened, what they felt. He smiled at her. "I love you, Chydanio."

Damn — how did he make her heart stop like that with just a smile? When she remembered to breathe again, she smiled back. "I love you, Qui-Gon."

* * *

The chime signaling an incoming message sounded just as Obi-Wan set his commlink down. He and Y'Chelle fought their way free of the tangle of blankets and pillows and made their way to the cockpit, where she was careful to specify "audio only" on the commboard.

"This is Anacris, captain of the _Midnight Wanderer_," she said.

"Trraffic Centrral," a bored voice answered. "Flight plan apprroved. Rready for firrst launch in one half hourr."

"Acknowledged." She closed the connection.

"I guess being a Jedi has its privileges," Obi-Wan observed from behind her, slipping his arms around her waist.

She hugged his arms closer to her and leaned back against him. "I suppose so. But it doesn't leave us much time."

He kissed her hair, and his voice was suddenly low and playful as he asked, "Time for what?"

"_Not_ for that! I have to prep the ship and you have to get cleaned up."

He let go of her and sat down in the copilot's seat, activating the navigation systems. "We'll run the checks together, and then we'll take a shower together." He looked up at her and saw she was trying to frown at him. He stroked her arm gently, then tugged her into the pilot's seat. "Really. We'll save time this way, Y'Chelle."

He familiarized himself quickly with the instrumentation and started to run through the numbers on his panel. She gave in as his concentration on the pre-flight checks turned into a relaxed semi-telepathy between them, the both of them so attuned to the ship and each other that they could coordinate their readings and adjustments without a word. When they completed the last of the launch sequence, she looked over at him and grinned. He'd been right — they'd done it in record time.

Then they piled into her cramped shower facing each other. Obi-Wan grabbed the soap and Y'Chelle. When they finally tumbled out of the shower, panting and laughing from their passionate balancing act, they hurried into their clothing.

"And we were supposed to go out on Chydanio's boat today — she was going to teach me how to sail," Obi-Wan groused as he straightened his belt.

"I wonder if she's coming to the spaceport," Y'Chelle wondered aloud, tugging her sash into place. "I'd like the chance to say goodbye to her."

Obi-Wan shrugged into his hooded cloak. "So would I." He thought about it. "I'm sure she'll see Master Qui-Gon off," he decided.

"Then I'll go with you to your ship." She quickly twisted her damp hair up and pinned it, looking to Obi-Wan for approval. A slender lock of hair in front threatened to loosen itself from the others, and he gently drew it out to frame one side of her face. The asymmetry of the line of dark hair against her pale, oval face suited her, as did her loose, neutral clothing that somehow enhanced the delicate curves of her body.

"You look beautiful," he said with all honesty.

She blushed. "Thank you."

"I'm going to miss you," he said suddenly.

Her expression softened as she looked up at him. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"We'll see each other again, won't we?"

She pressed her finger to the dimple in his chin, caressing him there. "We're bound to run into each other again — Coruscant is still my home base, and even if it weren't we both have to report to the Jedi Council after every mission." She smiled. "Besides, now we know how to find each other."

He knew he'd be able to pick out her Force sense in the largest crowd, and she his, they'd become that familiar to each other, and he returned her smile, reassured. He would definitely look for her every time he returned to the Jedi Temple. She put on her cloak, and they took each other's hand and walked to Obi-Wan's ship.

They arrived at almost the same moment as Qui-Gon and Chydanio, and the young Jedi both strode towards the tall tavern owner eagerly. She let go of Qui-Gon's arm and embraced first Y'Chelle and then Obi-Wan.

"I was hoping I'd have the chance to say good bye to you," Y'Chelle said. "Being here has meant so much, and it was you who — "

"No." Chydanio tipped up Y'Chelle's chin, smiling at her. "Your presence was special, too. It wouldn't have been the same without you, Y'Chelle. And you — " She stroked the soft spikiness of the Jedi apprentice's hair. "Well, I owe _you_ a sailing lesson, Obi-Wan."

"I'll hold you to that," he promised.

Y'Chelle had turned to Qui-Gon, and began hesitantly, "Master…"

"You are a Jedi Knight, Y'Chelle," he said, sensing what she wanted to say. "You need no one's approval."

"But I'm thankful for yours. I feel…we've come to understand each other better, Master Qui-Gon. I hope we have."

He looked down at her, the intensity of his gaze tempered with sincere affection. "I believe we have. And I hope we have the chance to work together in the future."

She grinned up at him. "So do I." She put her hand out to him. He clasped her wrist briefly, and then to her surprise drew her close and embraced her. She returned the embrace warmly.

"…when you finish your first book of poems," Chydanio teased Obi-Wan.

He reddened, then tilted his head and looked at her, suddenly earnest. "I'm very glad we met, Chydanio."

"So am I, Obi-Wan," she said, resting her hand on his cheek, "so am I." She turned and looked at them all. "Payday's not for another week; you're going to have to come back to collect your wages for your work yesterday."

"Then we'll come back," Y'Chelle declared.

Chydanio turned to Qui-Gon. They'd already said their goodbyes, but she took his hand in hers and, just as she had when she'd given him the moon, she turned it over. She pressed her lips to his palm and folded his fingers over the kiss.

"If the Force wills it, we'll meet again," she said. "And then I'll claim this back from you. Keep it safe for now."

He promised with a small smile meant only for her, "I will, Chydanio."

Obi-Wan took the opportunity for one more kiss from Y'Chelle. She looked up at him, dark eyes full of emotion, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. They'd been so certain they'd meet again that neither of them had given much thought to this particular goodbye, had been putting off all thoughts of it until this very moment. Suddenly there was so much he wanted to tell her, but couldn't manage anything in the fullness of his heart.

She nodded, understanding. He bent his head, and she went up on tiptoe. They kissed briefly, lightly, and kissed again, and then one more time, their arms going around each other. He hugged her tight as she whispered in his ear, like a blessing, "The Force will be with you. Always."

They moved away from each other and Chydanio stepped forward behind Y'Chelle, resting her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. Y'Chelle reached up and covered one of the taller woman's hands with hers, holding tight as they both watched Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan board their ship.

"Take care of each other," the tavern owner said.

Both men turned, and Qui-Gon nodded once, his gaze warm on the two women standing together. Obi-Wan hastened to assure them, "We will," and then the ramp was raised and the door shut.

Chydanio squeezed Y'Chelle's shoulders. "And please, be careful, Y'Chelle," she said, turning with the Jedi Knight and walking out of the docking bay.

Y'Chelle smiled up at her. "I will. And I hope the Force allows our paths to cross again."

"I hope so, too. You're always welcome here, Y'Chelle."

"Thank you, Chydanio. Thanks for everything." She left the other woman's side and began to lengthen her stride towards her own ship. "May the Force be with you!" she called as she disappeared around the corner.

Chydanio continued out of the spaceport thoughtfully, arms folded across her chest as if hugging herself. As she reached the street, someone called her name and skidded to a stop beside her. "Ialii!" she said.

"They announced that the flight restrictions were lifted," he said, "and I thought…I guessed…" His whiskers arched forward as he quickly took the measure of her emotions, and then he feathered her cheek gently with the tip of his tail.

"You guessed right," Chydanio admitted.

He wound his tail around her waist. She stroked his tail tip thoughtfully, and they walked back to The Sword and Stars.

And as master and apprentice made their way to the bridge of their ship, Qui-Gon noted blandly in passing, "You know, Obi-Wan…I think Y'Chelle liked you."

END PART V


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